The Sailor. The Sea

Grey-blue waters freeze at the caps
As if trying to touch the same grey-blue sky
I steadied myself against her threatening storm
Waves mist pelting my skin
Pin pricks allowing me to feel alive
Me…the sailor
Salt ‘neath nails looking windward
She…my sea
Getting under my skin again
I will sail her waters
Fair winds be damned.

He wears the dawn into the day,
And breaks on the horizon;
If I could touch him only once,
I would.
I would give up my depths to be apart of his sky,
Reach out my waves to get a glimpse of his days;
In fleeting moments I brush his skin,
And it is I who is thirsty,
And I who is trembling,
And I who is drowning;
In the well of him.
He is a ripple on my water,
A tremble in my wake,
And I would have him if I could;
But His bones are not bound to me.
He the Sailor,
The Sea.

Written by @takingstockofwhatmattersmost and a.g.case, collaboratively! This is the first time I’ve ever worked in conjunction with another writer, and I’m so glad to be able to share it with you all❤


I hope we last. I hope we do.
But if we don’t,
This is how I want you to remember me:

I want you to remember me curled up,
Listening to the sound of your heartbeat
And tracing maps across your skin.
Remember me laughing at your jokes,
Even the stupid ones.
Remember me scared and gentle and
Delicate and breakable — only for you though,
Only for you.
Remember me happy, and all the
Ridiculous ways I tried to get your attention.
Remember all the firsts and how they were so
Delightful we went back for seconds
And thirds
And fourths.
If it comes to it, I don’t want you to remember the ending.
Remember the beginning.
Remember the first time you knew.
—  S.Z. // Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #132

it terrifies me that my life could take a turn somewhere in the future. I could fall in love with the right one or the wrong one. I could lose my momentum in life.

It terrifies me that there is so much closed doors in this world and that there’s so much pressure in taking the right path. It terrifies me that one day everyone would turn their backs on me and that no one would ever love me again. It terrifies me that I’ll be on a rough patch forever because maybe I don’t fight hard enough. Maybe I am not focused enough. Maybe money really is what runs this world. Maybe writing and engineering really is not for me.

I guess this is life.

So you left. You left me. I never thought it would happen this way. You left. You. Not me. You left me. And I hope you feel guilty. But I know you don’t care.
—  j.p. (you left last sunday)

“Keşke sen ben olsan;
Seni sevmenin ne kadar zor olduğunu anlasan.
Keşke ben sen olsam;
Bu kadar sevilmenin tadını çıkarsam.”

-Özdemir Asaf

On the Art of Falling

The hurt is not in the falling,
The falling is the easiest part;
You see,
The weightlessness,
The butterflies bursting in your belly,
The outstretched arms
And tumbling limbs
Awkwardly grasping
The newness as you learn to fly.
The hardest part is hitting rock bottom.
It’s the realization you are closer to the ground than what you once thought.
You are grasping at ropes you can never catch on to,
The baggage of your parachute weighs you down when it refuses to deploy.
And you try to ignore it for as many moments as you can,
It’s easier then the thought of letting go,
Easier then the thought that you jumped alone;
Easier then your thoughts.
No, the hardest part
Is not even in the moment you crash,
In the very moment you hit the bottom
With as much pain as you put Love into that fall,
An Arial acrobat letting go without a net.
The true suffering comes
When you must pick yourself up;
Broken bones and heart and all,
And learn to walk again.
Learn to trust again.
Learn to Love again.
And learn to fall again,
More gracefully
Then the last time you jumped.