james henrie

The perfect thing you wrote, bonfires in my fingers
You were not alone, I could feel what you were feeling
In that song I wrote, I felt so close to leaving
You were holding tight, spoke without me hearing

A message on your machine, lost in cellphone speakers
You know what I mean, though you’re not close enough to hear it
Somehow I’m not here, always hooked on endings
I broke that off this year, but I lost track of how it felt

And if it really was so awful
And if I could have known you for real
He got so drunk and high, this sparrow
That he went crashing through the window

Spring comes in like teeth, chewed up, thawing ice
He’s hurtling through the trees
I can’t see your body
But I can feel your might, lost in autumn breezes
You are something wild
I almost believe it

Though you couldn’t be my friend all last year
I couldn’t be there for you either
You had to black out on some liquor
To not confront the basic idea:
We feel the same thing just as awful
We feel the same pain just as awful
And as convinced I was you hurt me
That I was nothing more than a bully


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Fun fact: Edith Wharton and Henry James had an amazing friendship. As their friendship grew, Wharton began to call James “Cherest Maitre,” while he called her things like “admirable Confrere” and “Princesse Rapprochee.” They discussed dinner party gossip, bummers like going to the dentist, and, of course, writing. We want to see if you can tell which literary bud wrote these gorgeous lines.


“A Place to Call Home” - Season 4 Trailer


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