“And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.”
—Libba Bray (The Sweet Far Thing)
June 2013
Fragments: No.2
(last night)
the sky was turning dark,
a cerulean blue
and i watched the green
of our backyard trees
turn into black, forming silhouettes
as the twinkle
from fireflies
began to emerge.
i am the quiet one
and i will eternally
notice these things
and sigh
in recollection
because colors
(moments)
are so much more vivid
in memory
than on film.
PETER PAUL AND MARY <3_________<3
:)
Play
“i am a woman
and
a poem.” —visceral, nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)
and
a poem.” —visceral, nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)
Kumbaya
Peter, Paul and Mary
It’s days like today that you randomly stumble upon a song and your entire childhood floods back into your consciousness all at once. And in case you were wondering, it’s somewhere between the second and third “Kumbaya,” that your inner folk soul suddenly begins to make sense. Thanks mom and dad. Thanks peter, paul and mary.
Listen
Peter, Paul and Mary
oh my god. What did i just find? I actually feel like I’m going to cry. my childhooddd.
Play
Long Ladder →
kdecember.tumblr.com
The party is already over by the time I get her back to the apartment. Everyone is gone, probably drifting into the final hours of the bars.
It looks like a cheerful bomb has gone off in the apartment.
Holly seems glad that there is only the corpse of a party to deal with. She is my roommate’s girlfriend’s old college roommate. It is a long ladder to climb. We gather too many titles as we move forward in life.
Holly is just a girl I agreed to pick up from the airport.
She keeps taking swigs from a green bottle in her purse. She is sashaying around the apartment to music we can hear through the wall. I can’t remember what holiday it is. It might not even be a holiday. I hate my apartment more than any collection of rooms on the planet.
My medication has turned the three drinks I had in the airport bar into six drinks.
Holly and I massage handfuls of confetti we find on the floor into each other’s hair.
We stick pins into a map of the continents on my roommate’s bedroom wall. We loop a piece of bright red string around every destination and pull them all out at once. The Earth is split in half.
Holly makes it rain on my roommate’s cat with a fistful of dollar bills. He is the wealthiest cat alive.
We burn all the pictures of my family, my roommate’s family, all the pictures Holly has in her purse.
I call my little brother and tell him that Christmas is canceled this year. In the background Holly coughs like a dying Santa Clause, bellowing out, “Ho ho ho, oh holy shit.”
After I pass out on the couch for half an hour I find her out on the fire escape. She is swinging a fire extinguisher over the railing like she’s thinking of skipping a rock across a pond.
“I was in Sweden 24 hours ago with my fiancé. Now I’m here, with a fucking stranger. I’m in America because I don’t know how to finish what I start.”
And she lets the fire extinguisher drop from her hand directly down onto the windshield of my car.
Holly wraps her arms around herself and looks at me, moon-eyed and shaking. On her right wrist the word “Aristocrat” is tattooed. The words “Fuck & Die” on the other. I kiss each of her wrists and lead her back into the apartment.
We drink black coffee. We don’t undress.
“Out of your vulnerabilities will come your strength.”
—Sigmund Freud (via thatkindofwoman)
