"She is a year ago.
She is the ache in the empty,
the first time you changed your mind
and the last time you were sorry about it.
She is a city sleeping beside you,
warm and vast and familiar, streetlights
yawning and stretching,
and you have never. You have never.
You have never loved someone like this.
She is your first stomach ache.
Your first panic attack and your
favorite cold shower.
A mountain is moving somewhere
inside of you, and her handprints are all over it.
Here. Here. Here, you love her.
In the fractured morning, full of
too tired and too sad, she is the first
foot that leaves the bed.
She is the fight in you, the winning
and the losing battle
floating like a shipwreck in your chest.
When they ask you what your favorite moment is,
You will say Her.
You will always say Her."
— Caitlyn Siehl, Her, Her, Her (via alonesomes)
I never condoned embracing ignorance,
until I stumbled back over you.
"I want to spend October with you, because it’s
my favorite month and happens during my
favorite season. I wish we could aimlessly
walk around a forest and with each leaf that
falls from the branches above, we fall a little
more for each other too. While hand in hand
we can crave the smell of warm coffee and
cinnamon muffins on a chilly morning, we
could feel the autumn breeze brush against
our skin and the goose bumps we get, we
won’t be able to tell if it’s from touching each
other’s skin or from the wind being too cool.
When we lay in bed you’d have the hardest
time moving an inch away from me, because
I’d want to be skin to skin every minute.
These lonely summer nights without you make
me crave the fall, and crave the season of
death in the hopes that maybe this loneliness
would die too, and you’d appear by my side.
I can’t tell if I love the night too dearly, or
hate it too passionately. I think I’d adore
it if I got to sleep next to you every evening,
and I think that I’d enjoy the sunset more
watching it hit your face than actually
seeing it say goodnight. I just crave to
spend time with you, I do."
— i.c. // October (via delicatepoetry)