and I'll stare out the window

In the dream, we are strangers knee to knee on a train. It’s the most we ever touch. I still write about you. I still end up here. There is something to be said for a love that refuses to melt. A love stored in the freezer, in a ziplock bag. Stashed behind the ice cube tray. Always waiting to be pulled out. Willing to thaw, to forgive like spring, to pick up right where it left off. You, cradling a phone in the crook of your arm. Me, crying about produce. You call, and I answer. You say, “Do you know what an air traffic control room looks like? All those switches and buttons blinking? When I hear your voice, everything lights up all at once for me. Nobody else does that.” I don’t say anything eloquent. So we’re back on the train, with the knees, only this time you’re looking me in the face and I’m staring out the window. What do you think happens when love gets left out too long?
—  Trista Mateer

My perfect day.

Prompt from here!

Summary: Keith gets stranded in an unknown city on a cold day with no way to get home. He calls Lance to come pick him up, not knowing that Lance is already sick and should be resting instead.

Last bus: 10:45PM

Next bus: 6:15AM

Keith stares at the sign. His shoulders sag, his breath leaving him in a cloud of white.

He’s doomed. He’s stuck in a city miles away from his own house, and he’s just missed the last bus of the night.

Shivering, he brushes the snow off of a bench and sets his bags down on top of it. His fingers feel like they’re turning to ice, so he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to keep his body from shaking too badly.

This is all his fault. He’d been the one who had been insistent on coming all the way here. He’d taken a bus after lunch, travelling miles and miles from home just to reach this obscure city–it was the only one that happened to have motorbike parts he needed, and he’d planned his trip so he could navigate using his phone and get back before it got dark.

As it turned out, he’d ended up getting miserably lost in the city, and his phone had died on him due to the cold weather. After spending hours wandering around, he’d finally found his way back to a train station on the other side of the town.

And the last bus left half an hour ago. Just his luck.

He doesn’t know anything about this city, doesn’t have anywhere to stay for the night. It’s too far to walk back, and it’s too cold to sleep out here.

He glances up. The snow slants as it falls from the gaping sky, snowflakes turning gold in the sparse light of nearby streetlights. Shivering, he pulls his jacket closer around him, the spare change in his pocket rattling from the movement.

Change. There’s a payphone across the street.

Keith hates bothering people, especially when it’s this late at night. There are not that many people that he trusts enough to bother in the first place, and most of them are unavailable. Hunk is out of town, Shiro and Allura live too far away, Pidge doesn’t have her own car yet. But maybe if he asks nicely enough, he can convince Lance to drive him back.

He picks up his bags, wincing as his fingertips brush against the frigid bench railings, and starts off to cross the street. This is a bad idea, he’s sure, but he’s tired and cold and he can think of nothing better.

He just really, really wants to be home.

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we are all ghosts,
haunting the houses
that are our bodies.

we are isolated and alone
inside of ourselves,
waiting for someone to move in—
to breathe life into this
abandoned, deserted sanctuary
that was once called home.

the walls are cracked,
the paint is peeling,
and the furniture is old and dusty.
still we linger;
staring out the window—
promising ourselves that, this time,
we won’t scare people away.
—  the ghosts that haunt themselves | m.a.w
You know I would treat you better” he says
“I know” I state as I stare out the window watching the trees blur past
“Then why won’t you let him go?”
I close my eyes for a minute and listen to the soft sound of the radio
“Because he still has a piece of me. I love him with my every being and I can’t let that go. He has the part of me I love the most. When I’m with him I’ve never been so happy. It’s like the world makes sense when I’m with him. Does that sound crazy?”
“No, that’s the way I feel about you

me preparing for long car trips: brings three different books, game boy, downloads fun apps, lots of activities,
me on long car trip: listens to a single song on repeat for two hours while staring out the window

i stand in the window of a plant-filled room, staring out at everything, but also at nothing. fog swirls around me, across my palms and around my neck. the soft tap of raindrops on the window seems to quiet the entire world. 

you love him, don’t you? 

suddenly, the pink-purple bruise on my neck seems to ache and i stare deeper, at the gardens below that we flooded with ash and water, at the harsh white concrete path and the asphalt deadened by the rain. 

you do

i close my eyes, lashes flinching against my cheekbones like timid butterflies. i can feel blood welling in my nose, a reminder that i am not meant to be here. when i open my eyes again, the gray of the clouds has darkened and thunder rolls across the sky. i embrace the quiet chaos in my mind and breathe in, breathing in the plants and the soil and the rain, filling my lungs with this planet.


i say as i turn, my fire-bright eyes on the girl in front of me. a hint of the deadly, holy rage still resides inside my bones, a tell-tale sign that i am celestial, unbound to anyone. the breath inside my lungs grounds me, keeping me calm and composed. as i stare at her in front of me, i realize that i am not so different. the fire in my eyes dims to gold, settling in my veins like solid, cold apathy.

yes. i do love him. and what are you going to do about it? 

love is so, so cold // r.h.

“You’ll be fine without him,” my friend tells me.

“I know. I’ll even be happy.”

“So what’s the problem?” she asks.

I stare out the window. It’s raining outside.

“It would’ve been easier,” I say at last, “to have been happy with him here.”

whispered secrets. crowns made out of your favourite flowers. talking for hours about books and not getting tired. spending time with your pet after a tiring day. loyal and dedicated. the colour mint. vintage champagne. a river that flows through a city. a piece of old paper with creases and ornate writing. iron bridges. buildings overgrown with vines. staring out of the window when that one song comes on.
—  name aesthetics: Rumaysa //requested by @rxjafer
fob album aesthetics
  • tttyg: exes. getting out of town. punching holes in bedroom walls. sitting in parks in the middle of the night.
  • futct: locking yourself in your room. vinyl records. daydreaming. ranting to your best friend.
  • ioh: stargazing. writing poetry. driving at night. staring out the window and wondering what it would be like to run away.
  • folie: bonfires. feeling like you're truly at home. finishing a good book. wishing on a star.
  • srar: not giving a shit. bloody knuckles. confidence. putting your middle finger up to the world.
  • ab/ap: rainy days. missing someone you've never met. sparklers. thinking that it might be ok again.

She was partially staring out the window, observing as people began to pile up for the event all dressed up and with the soft music thumping in a distance; Heather wasn’t sure whether to partake in yet or not, Sam was going and she decided to watch her sister for now, but there was a lazy black-colored dress wrapped around her elbow and a fruit punch being lifted up to her lips. “5 bucks says one of them is going to start fucking twerking like a drunk ass worm.”

Heartbreak isn’t lying across your bathroom floor at 3:00 am screaming the pain away. Heartbreak is sitting in your office on a Monday morning at 9:00 am, staring at the rain rolling down your windows, envious that the sky can ‘shed tears’ while you take deep breaths to forget a love that once was and carry on with your day. Heartbreak is the pain that hits you out of nowhere, the unexpected one, not the one that presents itself when you’re lonely.

Excerpts from the book I’ll never write #331


7:52 pm

You know how that typical scene in that cliché movie has that girl sticking her head out to the window of some boy that likes her—or maybe just her boyfriend driving the car while her hair just slow-motions while it gets pushed back from her face and she looks pretty and all with her million dollar smile and how that guy wakes up next to her already-awake girlfriend who’s been staring at her boyfriend because of how fucking adorable he looks sleeping and more so when he wakes up? Well, I can’t tell you much but that’s bullshit. No one looks that good in a vulnerable moment. No one looks beautiful when their mascara’s mixed with their tears falling down and no one looks handsome desperately drinking off a water bottle after a long sweaty day at practice. But I bet you’d disagree, right? Because you have seen the beauty in those vulnerable moments with the ones you love, and you keep seeing them because of the same reason. Love. You see the beauty in their just-woke-up look where they have dried saliva next to their lips or how ragged their hair looks after sticking their head out of the car window because you don’t care if they look bad because even the bad days, even the bad moments, even the ugly, vulnerable moments, you fall in love with it. Why?
—  because it’s the same reason why you fall in love with them. (via @justimbxste)

Here are some Cinquains that I have written. Hope you enjoy them.

Poetry by Rachel:

A man

stands still and stares,

his eyes are black as coal

and they follow me as I walk

for miles.

The zoo

is like prison,

animals kept in cages

blank eyes staring at empty walls



offer us a glimpse 

into the world around,

light bursts out of many, but others are 

dark holes.

Lyrical Starters: TØP Edition
  • "A Kitchen sink to you, is not a kitchen sink to me, okay friend?"
  • "Please leave me alone,"
  • "We're broken people,"
  • "I've got a migraine,"
  • "I don't know why i feed on emotions, there's a stomach inside my brain,"
  • "Does it bother anyone else that someone else has your name?"
  • "We're all terrified of what's around the corner,"
  • "I took some food for thought, it might be poisoned,"
  • "Wish we could turn back time to the good old days,"
  • "Nobody else is dealing with your demons, meaning that defeating them could be the beginning of your meaning friend,"
  • "Can you save my heavydirtysoul?"
  • "I can't take this on my own,"
  • "Down in the forest, we'll sing the chorus, one that everyone knows,"
  • "She's the tear in my heart, I'm alive,"
  • "She's the tear in my heart, I'm on fire,"
  • "They say stay in your lane boy, but we go where we want to,"
  • "I'm a goner,"
  • "I heard the echo from his secret hide away,"
  • "Right time, wrong place,"
  • "Hello, we haven't talked in quite some time, I know I haven't been the best,"
  • "I'll stay awake because the dark's not taking prisoners tonight,"
  • "They told me I was gone, they told me I was gone,"
  • "Sometimes quiet is violent,"
  • "You should take my life, you should take my soul,"
  • "Fight it, take the pain ignite it,"
  • "There's some people and I who have a really tough time getting through life,"
  • "There's hope out the window, so that's where we'll go,"
  • "I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease,"
  • "He's seen too many stare downs between the sun and the moon,"
  • "I wanted to be a better brother, a better son,"
A latte for Two-Face

I’m not partial to OCs but I love robinsontheroof for starting hashtagonlyingotham and wanted to see if I could do a story as to how it all started (in the world of Gotham ofc.) So, without further ado, I give you the fictional origin story of #OnlyInGotham.


thatonekidfromgotham + 

 Okay Tumblr, so I wasn’t going to post this but people will literally not stop asking about how this #OnlyInGotham thing started so here’s the story. In case you don’t know, my name is Ava Takara or as I’m known here thatonekidfromgotham. I mostly just post fandoms and crap on this blog, which you’ll know if you follow me. You’ll also know that I’m really passionate about photography and the city that I live in. And, if you’ve taken the hint in my url, you’ll know that city is Gotham. 

Cue the horrified screaming.

Gotham’s got a pretty bad reputation. Between the schizophrenic district attorneys, costumed vigilantes, psycho psychiatrists and even the occasional actually super-powered superhero, crazy must be in the water. I’m not going to lie to you. Sometimes it feels like every five minutes the news is flashing a new alert for some kind of disaster. Apocalypse Wednesdays, as my dad calls them. 

 However, do take into account there are 10 MILLION of us Gothamites. That’s a hell of a lot of people who don’t run into super-villains on a daily basis. The closest I’d ever come is when my cousin, Stan, got injected with fear toxin after bumping into the Scarecrow (I kid you not) taking the trash out at his crappy part-time job at McDonalds. From what he can remember Scarecrow just stared at him, pulled out a book, wrote a few notes and left. Just like that. He woke up in the hospital a couple of hours later. He’d crapped his pants but despite everything he still insisted it was the best high he’d ever had. Then again Stan has always been an idiot. 

 Oh, and I may have seen Batman like once. Then again it could have been the pizza guy (long story). 

 Apart from that, my life had been pretty uneventful. I have been in only a couple of crises in my short life, one of the most significant of which was during Zero Year, after the Riddler flooded Gotham. My apartment was swamped and I stupidly went back in to get my dog. I should have just waited for the police and paramedics and stuff to come. But the city was in chaos and dude. It was my dog. My dog

 So I went back in. Despite having no muscle and the swimming ability of a three-year-old, I waded through. The water was up to my waist and freezing. I was breathing fast and hard but all I could hear was my dog barking and whining frantically and all I could focus on was getting Max, my dog, to safety. I found him in my parent’s room. The room had been jammed shut by the force of the water and I couldn’t get it open. I heard the window smash, heard a dull thunk as my dog’s legs were knocked out from under him. I could hear Max yelping on the other side and I started to cry because I couldn’t get it open. What if I couldn’t save my dog? What if I had to hear him die?

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