holding wonder

She read people like books, quietly, 
studying their lines and scars like words on a page, studying their walk, the way they hold themselves. Wondering what story brought them here, she reads them and hopes for a happy ending
—  h.a.a 

When you meet the boy named October.

Don’t let him call you. With his autumn cheeks and orange hair he’ll offer you a campfire smile. Tell you that he loves your summer skin; that you are green and sweet and beautiful. But his mouth is a library for ghost stories; and if you let him call your name; you will become one too.

Don’t let him kiss you. I know his lips look soft as yellow clouds and it will feel like swallowing sunshine. But the warmth comes before the burn.
Didn’t I warn you? His mouth is a library for ghost stories;
and he will leave your throat haunted with the sound of his name;
And I love you;
And please come back.

Don’t let him hold you. He will open his arms like the promise of forever.
And if you let him hold you; you will wonder if this is how they say safety in sign language;
You will never forget the way his palms pressed like flowers against your neck; fingertips traced the lines of your throat; collar bones; shoulders; settling firmly in the small of your back.
And at first, you won’t notice the way your forest green skin fades into yellow; a warning sign;
A reminder;
Everything he touches must fall.

You mustn’t fall in love with him; because you you will find yourself falling alone.
He will not catch you. And falling in love only feels like flying until you hit the ground.
His love is the kind of dream that makes you regret waking up;
And when you do, your body will become orange skin and red lips. You will open your eyes to the bottom of his boot.
And when he walks away; your body will become his bridge; and the weight of his absence will crush you.

Because the boy named October only knows how to leave.
And when he does; you will no longer recognise yourself.

—  The boy named October // mentamorphisis

So I’ve recently gotten into this show called Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency (a mouthful, but it’s worth it).

I can’t even properly describe how much I love the character of Dirk Gently in this, how much I relate to him on personal levels. I see so much of myself in him, in how he acts and behaves, and how other people react to him, and the things he says, and I just get him, because in a lot of ways I am him, or very much like him. (In like, a metaphorical way, not a literal “oh my god I’m going to change my name to Dirk” way.)

It’s also made me a huge fan of Samuel Barnett.

So here’s something I’ve been working on for the past two days!

How can you watch her cry her heart out pouring everything she has to give, and be so cold? Do you know how lucky you are to hold a girl so wonderful in your arms? Don’t push her around just because you know you can.
—  B.L letters I never sent

Found while moving my office around. This is a photo of a piece of paper with a recipe for wacky cake, in my mom’s handwriting. Here’s what I know for sure–I freaking loved my mom’s wacky cake when I was a kid. She usually made a thin powdered sugar glaze that she poured over the top of it and it was super delicious.

Here’s what I can read off the paper:

Wacky Cake

Sift into pan:

  • 1.5 cup flour
  • 1 cup sugar
  • 3 Tablespoons cocoa
  • 1 teaspoon soda (I’m assuming baking soda here)
  • 0.5 teaspoon salt

3 holes–

  • 1 teaspoon vinegar
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
  • 3-5 Tablespoons oil

 (that is, make three wells in the dry ingredients and put one liquid in each well)

Here’s where it gets dicey:

1 cup <illegible> over all, beat

30-35 min 350 oven.

Y’all, what is that word? I’m thinking it ought to be water or milk. It would not be unlikely at all for her to have written H2O for water, but it doesn’t quite look like that?