withering hearts

And her tears stained her cheeks like dewdrops on a leaf as she felt her heart wither away in a fading garden of emptiness.
—  Lukas W. // A fading garden

Odin, staring down the edge of the bifrost at yet another child he’s managed to turn into a destroyer of worlds, full of shame and grief and confusion for how this happened. Despite his attempts to change, to change Asgard, and teach his sons not to pursue war as he had his daughter, he has somehow reared another child bent on annihilation. “No, Loki,” he murmurs, as his heart breaks with the echo of saying no to another child millennia before; his legacy is inescapable, and taints everything he touches. 

The darkness swallows another shard of his old and withered heart. 

To my future daughter,                                                                                                              
 I’m sorry for all the hurt the world will inflict on you.
I wish I could protect you,
But I can’t.                                                                                                                           
Instead, I will teach you what my mother failed to teach me.                                                                                                                                   
  i. You are more than your body.
The world will tell you, you are nothing but lips and curves.
Only thigh gaps and soft brown waves of hair.
They are wrong, baby.
There are universes in your eyelashes,
Worlds caved into your ribs.
You are entirely too big for your body, for this world.
Your world is held together by skin and bones, but you are more than the stitching at your seams.
You are wonder.
And grace.
And beauty, all in one.                                                                                                                           
  ii. The world is at your service.
Never let anyone tell you you cannot be anything you want.
Honey, you might not be able to be everything,
But you sure hell can be something.
Anything.
Be an astronaut, if you want to see what the world is like away from all the noise.
Be a doctor, if you want to know what its like to hold a beating heart in your hand.
Be a teacher, if you want to see true wonder in those around you.
Be all of it or none of it.
The world will be what you make it.
And you can make it how you want.                                                                                                              
 iii. Please don’t resent me for when I try to protect you
I wish my mother had taught me to thicken my skin,
To hold my breath around bullies
And not let them see me bleed.
I wish I’d been taught tough love.
I walked down hallways with a hood of slurs covering me, tears burning acid on my cheeks.
Instead, I was taught unconditional love, which is great but it won’t help.
Not when it really matters.
It won’t prevent the scratches you draw across your arms when times get tough.
The blood drawn will heal with kisses, slowly, but they will still bleed.                                                                                                              
 iv. Befriend the outsider.
Because, my darling, we are all the outsiders, some are just outsiders together.
The girl with the pink hair has a story behind her eyes as well as her tattoos.
Take time to listen to it.
It might shift your world a little bit.
The boy with the acne always running, running, running.
He might be running from more than his problems.
Maybe his mind, maybe the love he doesn’t know how to show.
He might let you run with him, if you ask.                                                                                                              
 v. They’re going to leave you, whoever they are.
A friend, a lover, a companion.
They will say they won’t - but they will.
And that’s okay.
Your heart will wither when the door slams on his way out.
Tears stream down your face when another message remains unanswered.
That’s okay too. It will all be okay.
Not at first, but eventually.
Because we are all on our own journey and maybe yours don’t intersect anymore.
Life is big and messy but sometimes it’s not big enough for all of us.                                                                                                                           
So, do it all.
Be tall with short hair.
Short with purple hair.
Loud with a small voice. 
Small with a big heart.
Be anything you want, baby.
Be it all.                                                                                                                           
Because this world is yours.
And what anyone else says doesn’t matter.
And you are made, grown and built to conquer it.
—  To My Future Daughter (For The Road)
I Need You // Kim Taehyung

Originally posted by cmtae

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader (ft. Jungkook, Hoseok and Yoongi)

Genre: Angst

Summary//Request: You and Taehyung are in love with each other, but have never made your relationship official. Taehyung gets too drunk and ends up making out with another girl - and Jungkook lets you know everything the next morning.

A/N: This scenario contains text message imagines ^_^


“Can you two get a room already? Jeez!”

You sat with Taehyung and your friends at the back on the bus – you currently nestled in between Taehyung’s legs in the corner seat as he rested his hands on your thighs with his head in the crook of your neck, softly blowing raspberries on to your skin and making you giggle in delight.

“Seriously…you guys aren’t even dating and you can’t keep your hands off each other, just hurry up and make it official already” Hoseok playfully smacked Taehyung on the shoulder as you felt your cheeks becoming more rosy by the second. Every word that came out of Hoseok’s mouth was true – you and Taehyung were constantly being overly affectionate no matter if you were in private or public, however; you weren’t actually dating each other. You’d never confessed your feeling towards him, and neither had he. Even though you both hugged, snuggled and cuddled while holding hands and brushing cheeks, neither of you had even shared a proper kiss – much to your disappointment. Taehyung couldn’t quite put his finger on when he fell in love with you, but he knew that he was just too scared to tell you his true feelings – and you felt the same. Alas, here the two of you were, happily stuck between being best friends and lovers; not knowing when or if your relationship with each other would ever amount to something more.

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What Star Wars Means To Me

I was twelve years old when I saw Star Wars end. I was sitting between my dad and my brother at a screening of Revenge of the Sith, a movie that my prepubescent mind had convinced itself was the greatest thing it’d ever seen.

The movie’s climactic battle had come to an end, and as I watched the final scenes play out, I could feel the film’s looming departure steadily but surely setting in. In the movie’s last moments, Owen and Beru looked out into the binary sunset, cradling their new baby nephew, with John Williams’ score emotionally building toward the final credits, and a hollow emptiness began to overwhelm me. Episode III was coming to a close, and with it, so too would end the saga of Star Wars. Something that had brought so much happiness, so much excitement, so much magic into my life was now ending before my eyes. Everyone knew that there wouldn’t be another prequel or sequel or anything else. This was it—these final frames all-too-quickly spinning past the projector. In just a few seconds, it seemed that Star Wars would be gone forever.

As I left the theater with my brother and my dad, they started up a discussion about what we had just watched, but I was too emotionally drained to join in. It was hard for me to come to grips with the fact that the Star Wars movies were really done with. Sure, Star Wars itself would still go on in some form. The Clone Wars cartoon was enjoyable. And they started making those cool-looking Force Unleashed games, too. Plus, there were the comics and the books and all sorts of other stories being made.

But it just wasn’t the same. You could write a thousand books, make a thousand TV shows and develop a thousand video games filling in whatever nooks and crannies the films overlooked in the Star Wars canon, but they would never, ever be a substitution for sitting in that theatre and seeing the quiet fade-in of the words “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…”

When the movies left, it was like a bit of magic had left the world, too. And between the ages of seven and thirteen, that magic inspired me. It made me read and create and imagine more than any time I spent at school ever did. Whenever a new movie came out, I fantasized about what the next one might be like. And when the movies ended, I fantasized about what a whole new Star Wars trilogy might be about. Maybe it would follow Luke creating a new Jedi Order, or maybe it would take place thousands of years before the prequels and show us the origins of the Jedi and the Sith. I hoped and dreamed and wondered, but I knew how unlikely it all was. Lucas would never make another movie, let alone give Star Wars to someone else so that they could go on to make an Episode VII. And so, Star Wars, as much as I continued to love it, slowly faded from my life. There was no use crying over spilt blue milk. Star Wars was done, and it wasn’t coming back.

And then I heard that Disney bought Star Wars and that they were going to make an Episode VII.

At this point, I’d like you to recall the scene at the end of Ratatouille where the evil food critic Ego takes a bite of Remy’s titular cuisine, and then suddenly he’s transported back in time to a moment in his childhood when he could still feel the warm embrace of love and happiness, and the cold, melancholic ice that once encased his withered heart melts away in a matter of seconds, restoring life and wonder to his old, bony body. Do you remember that scene? Because that is exactly what I felt like when I heard this news.

And I am not hyperbolizing here; I was literally shouting with jubilance when I heard that there would be an Episode VII. I can scarcely recall another moment in my life when I felt that level of genuine, startling happiness. It was like throughout all those years of Star Wars’ absence, all those years of resignation, a repressed excitement for the franchise was building up within me, never surfacing, never finding the right opportunity to ignite, but steadily rising and rising in pressure. And then, on that day, at that moment, upon hearing those words, all of that pent-up excitement just exploded out of me like a volcanic eruption. I didn’t know who was making this supposed Episode VII or what it would be about or when it was happening or even if it would be any good. None of that mattered. Star Wars was back, and I was going to celebrate like the Empire had just fallen.

Flash forward to the holiday season a couple years later, and even the non-geeks could see that the franchise had been reawakened in full force (get it, awakened, force, see what I did there). Star Wars logos, T-shirts, cups, toasters, mugs, toys, Lego sets and waffle irons filled the stores and display windows. Star Wars really, truly was back. What a fucking exciting time it was. I couldn’t help but just let all that giddiness get to me. There was magic in the air, and it wasn’t the magic of Christmas, but rather the magic of mystical techno samurai flying across solar systems to murder each other with glow sticks. Holy shit. Star Wars was back. STAR WARS WAS BACK. The hype was real, and it was everywhere.

But with that hype came an extreme and sustained spike of nervousness and skepticism. Criticisms of every new bit of information spread like fire throughout the interwebs. Did you see that weird new lightsaber? Is that another Death Star? Doesn’t that character just look like a rip-off of this other character?

After all, people loved Star Wars, and they couldn’t stop themselves from asking if this revival would live up to their expectations. Would The Force Awakens be a worthy successor to the franchise—a true return to form after decades of waiting for a real sequel to Jedi? Or would this simply be another prequel trilogy to dash the fans’ expectations and burn everything they loved about the series to the ground, buoyed only by the parallel stories of fans and creators determined to make sure Star Wars lived on? Lucas had failed us for the last time. People needed something GOOD.

The Force Awakens destroyed at the box office. Unadjusted for inflation, it became the highest-grossing film ever to hit American theaters, and the third highest-grossing film ever to hit the world. It was released to critical acclaim and massive audience approval. Abrams had done it. He had made a new Star Wars movie that both he and the fans could be proud of. All that hype was justified. All that waiting paid off. Star Wars wasn’t just back, it was good again. Great, even.

But as people celebrated Episode VII’s monetary and critical triumph, and as memes and excited chatter spread across the web, a notably large group of people simply did not feel that The Force Awakens met the standards they had set for it. To the point that they began to convince others that it was actually a bad, perhaps the worst ever, Star Wars movie.

And I’ll be honest—even I wasn’t sure how to feel about The Force Awakens when I first saw it. There was so much pressure on it to be good, and I was spending so much of the film’s runtime questioning whether or not I liked it, that I don’t think I was really, genuinely experiencing it. The movie felt like such a self-contradiction. It was so weirdly, at times even jarringly similar to the Original Trilogy, and at other times it was so strangely and uncomfortably different from it. The Resistance? That’s just the Rebellion. Starkiller Base? That’s just the Death Star. Kylo Ren? He’s not as threatening as Vader. Rey? She’s not as relatable as Luke. Part of me thought it was great, but another part of me felt terribly, soul-wearingly conflicted. I had to search my feelings about this film long and hard before I would be ready to draw a final conclusion about how it fit into the series.

It wasn’t until I saw it again a week later—when the crushing weight of all that pressure and anxiety and anticipation had time to dissolve—that I felt as though I was truly watching the movie for the first time. I was relaxed, passive, and ready to be entertained. I already knew what the movie was. I already knew what was going to happen. There was no more nervously waiting and watching to see what would become of my beloved franchise, what new things they were introducing to it, what old things they were keeping, and whether any of it was any good. I could just sit back and accept the film for what it was. And this time, I absolutely adored it.

The Force Awakens is in no way a perfect movie—far, far from it. But it was a miraculous work of Star Wars storytelling that won over both audiences and critics with its skillful direction, clever writing, compelling characters, great sense of humor and warm spirit.

Yes, TFA was closely and purposefully tailored to the original movies, but it was so, so much more than just another adventure film about a desert-inhabiting youth taking off to explore the galaxy and blow up giant space stations. It was a tale of friendship, hardship, humanity, and facing your darkest fears. It was about Rey struggling to look beyond the unknown terrors that lied before her—to confront her destiny and take up the lightsaber so that she could protect her new family. It was about Finn embracing his own humanity and working up the resolve to fight that which he spent the whole movie trying desperately to get away from. It was about Han reaching the culmination of his character’s growth from self-absorbed, smarmy money-grubber who ran from danger to a damaged and guilt-ridden father who renders himself both physically and emotionally vulnerable in order to save his son’s very soul.

Every relationship feels meaningful. Every dramatic revelation feels earned. Every joke hits. Every effect is dazzling and eighty percent of the time completely practical, which is why this movie will look far better in ten years than the prequels do now.

Poe and Finn are two of the most likeable characters to ever grace Star Wars cinema, and it’s no wonder that everyone wants them to be a couple when they had such an amazingly fun first date. Kylo Ren freezes a fucking blaster bolt in mid-fucking-air with the goddamn Force. BB-8’s thumbs up made every audience I saw the movie with burst into laughter. Poe blows up, like, fifteen TIE fighters in a row, followed by Finn shouting “That’s one hell of a pilot!” not even knowing at this point in the movie that Poe is still alive. The scene where Rey touches Luke’s lightsaber and is thrust into an acid trip of Force visions is both terrifying and mesmerizing. The two guards steadily backing away from Kylo Ren’s temper tantrum is adorable and hysterical. That moment when an emotionally distressed Kylo Ren struggles to pull Luke’s lightsaber from the snow, only to see it zoom past him and be dramatically caught by Rey as John Williams’ iconic score begins to build is fucking fantastic. And Han’s final confrontation with his son is so horrifically tense, and so well-executed and fitting as a conclusion to Han’s story that the internet, as liable as it was to do so, miraculously did not explode with blinding rage when it found out that Abrams had killed off one of the series’ most beloved characters.

Is there reason to be skeptical about the direction of the franchise? Yes. Is Disney perpetrating some worrisome behavior with their successive hiring and subsequent firing of every prospective director they get ahold of? Yes. Will Star Wars just become another MCU where we get two to three new movies every year and they all kind of begin to just meld together without any sense of consequence or meaningful continuity between installments? Maybe.

But I just can’t bring myself to think about that sort of thing right now. And maybe it’s not even really useful to think about it like that at all. Because regardless of what I or anyone reading this thinks, all that stuff is basically out of our hands. Maybe Star Wars will become stale and burned out after a few years of sequels and spinoffs. Or maybe, after establishing their new claim to the franchise with a few safe movies, the company will start to be more willing to experiment with new styles, stories and characters. I mean, with that completely new trilogy on the horizon, it does appear to be where this ship is headed.

But, who knows. Speculation is all we have. And all I can really say for absolute certain right now is that, for the moment, I have Star Wars in my life again, and I’m going to cherish it for as long as I can. Because I spent ten years in a world without Star Wars, and I have a lot of love left in me to give the franchise before I burn out, as a lot of other people seem to have already unfortunately done. I’d rather not go into the future of this series revival already prepared to hate the new Han Solo movie or Rian Johnson’s new trilogy or whatever else might come our way.

Because at the end of the day, despite the way many fans and even some past creators have treated it, Star Wars, pure and simple, is about joy. And when we live in a world that’s so filled with dread, fear, corruption, terror, hatred and downright tragedy, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to just let yourself give into something like Star Wars. I don’t mean to say we should just unconditionally love everything with the Lucasfilm logo on it, but maybe just recognize that sometimes it’s more valuable to be open and understanding and willing to love something than it is to be skeptical, critical, nitpicking and pessimistic, especially with something that is so widely adored and cherished the world over.

Maybe people won’t like The Last Jedi. Maybe they won’t like the Han Solo movie, either. Or maybe they’ll love them. But Star Wars isn’t any individual film. It’s a part of our culture, a symbol of the human spirit’s fascination with adventure, mysticism and the battle between good and evil. It means a billion different things to a billion different people and spans generations.

My dad once told me that when he used to take my brother and I to the toy store—years ahead of The Phantom Menace being unveiled—he was shocked to see that Star Wars toys still lined the shelves when a new movie hadn’t been made in well over a decade. But that’s what Star Wars is. It might have peaks and valleys, and there might be times when it feels like it’s all but left us, but in reality, it never really ends. It’s an invaluable part of human history whose effects will be felt for generations to come, and right now, it’s thriving in a way that nobody has seen in years.

We owe it not just to the franchise but to ourselves to enjoy every moment of it. Because Star Wars is the very embodiment of love, joy, hope, humor and adventure. Because Star Wars is a reminder that sometimes it’s okay to just let yourself be a kid again. Because while everything can be going wrong in the real world, Star Wars will always see to it that the light triumphs over the dark. Because while life is tragically short and full of hardship, Star Wars is forever.

2

Falling for You

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6.1] [6.2] [7] [8] [9.1] [9.2] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14.1]  [14.2] [15] [16] [17] [18.1] [18.2] [19] [20] [21]

cont’d below

But days turned into weeks and these weeks felt more like months and there was still no word from you. 

Sometimes, you didn’t show up to class and when you did, you’d sit in the front, making it almost impossible for Jungkook to talk to you. Not once would you look his way. It was as if he didn’t even exist to you and he felt a piece of his heart wither away each time you avoided him.

“You’ve never been in love before?”

“No.”

But Jungkook had lied to you. He didn’t know it then but he knew it now. He had fallen for you.

Since the moment Taehyung introduced you as his best friend, Jungkook was interested in you.  At first, he was shy around you and avoided you at all times, despite the fact that you gave him little to no attention at all.  But then he saw the way you would mess around and laugh with Taehyung and the way you managed to get close to the rest of his hyungs, too and he wanted that. He wanted to be close to you as you were close to them.

He was crushing on you. So at a bonfire Taehyung hosted, he approached you and talked to you and the following morning, he mustered up all his courage and sat next to you in the philosophy class you two had together. 

And then came that night–the one that started everything, the one in which you were very drunk and crying along to some Taylor Swift song. He knew he liked you then. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have felt a pang in his chest followed by disappointment when he found out your true feelings for Taehyung.

He knew it was foolish–pathetic, almost– of him to propose the idea of being your wing-man as an excuse to get close to you. Yet he did it anyway, thinking nothing wrong of it since he genuinely wanted to help you. If Taehyung liked you back, then you could be happy with him and if he didn’t, then you’d be able to move on without risking your friendship.

There was never an ulterior motive to his actions. He even pushed his own feelings aside but unfortunately, Jungkook learned that feelings can’t be ignored the hard way.

He found himself happy when you were happy and when you were sad, he wanted to do anything in his power to bring a smile back to your face. He started looking forward to when he’d see you next, often staying up late at night to think of ways he could find out how Taehyung really felt about you. 

Somewhere along the line, Jungkook sensed that your love was unrequited but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you. He knew it’d break your heart and Jungkook didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. It wasn’t until the night he and Taehyung talked about you that he noticed you were right about love.

It was a pretty shitty feeling and before you realize it, you’re already in too deep.


a/n: so I kinda wanted to explain things from Jungkook’s point of view. hope it’s not confusing!

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6.1] [6.2] [7] [8] [9.1] [9.2] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14.1]  [14.2] [15] [16] [17] [18.1] [18.2] [19] [20] [21]

love

“Jihyun. My love….Why are you crying? Are you upset? Please stop.”


But that is something you cannot do- not when she’s in bed with you, her body curled up around yours gently, her arms circling your frame and the palms of her hands brushing through your hair with love and gentleness of the likes you’ve truly never experienced.You cannot help but sob ever so quietly when you remember the I love yous and the kisses and the moments when she would hold your hand and caress your cheeks and pause in the middle of whatever she’s doing just to tell you she loves you.



You thought love was blonde hair that glowed like the rays of the sun- you thought love was allowing the shimmering gold to entangle itself around your neck and suffocate your breath. You thought that drinking poisoned wine from the chalice was right, though you knew your heart would wither with every sip of vemon that slowly conquers your body.


Because love hurts; it wrenches out your soul and amuses itself with seeing it torn bit by bit, as if you were a blooming flower whose petals it chose to discard of. To truly love is for your vision to dwindle into nothing but darkness, and for your senses to be restricted to only the feeling of her hands around your throat, of her nails against your skin.. To taste your own blood on the tip of your tongue, and thirst for more. Because this is love.


Except it is not.


“I love you, Jihyun.”

“And I truly adore you.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”


You honestly feel a little pathetic for shedding the tears that you do- a sliver of your ever lurking self deprecation wishes to prey on this, but her arms are strong and steady around you and her embrace wards off the malice you hold for yourself.


“Jihyun…”


Her hand- soft and gentle -brushes against your eyes and tries to dry your tears. A gasp as light as a feather weaves its way past your lips, and you only seem to cry more.It’s a silent sort of sob- quiet tears that still make your body quake with emotion.


“Sh…”


She feels so warm.


She feels so different. She does not mind the fact that you cry- she holds you still and presses gentle, successive kisses to the top of your head. Patiently, she waits for your chest to stop trembling with butterflies and the urge to bury your face in her neck and allow yourself to be completely vulnerable for once.


“It’s OK,” she says quietly, realising that you’re making an honest attempt to talk to her.


You wish you would stop crying long enough to tell her you love her.

Terms of Endearment

Summary: Richie let’s a term slip, hurting his boyfriend. He insists that it’s a term of endearment but Eddie refuses to believe it and interns gives him the silent treatment. By the end of the week they are both at their wits ends with each other and Richie knows that he has to do something drastic to get back on Eddie’s good side.

A/N: Okay so this was suggested to me when I was writing the last chapter for Rose Thorns. I loved it so much, and it screamed Richie. Thank you to @theliteraltrash for you suggestion! I love it! You can find the song here.

Word Count: 2133

Masterlist


“I cannot believe you just said that!”

Richie cringed at the tone of his boyfriend’s voice, feeling the words cut right through him. He didn’t look, he couldn’t because right next to him sat a 5foot 3inch ball of fury. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. “It’s a term of endearment.”

“Calling me a bitch is not a term of endearment!” He retorted harshly, sharpening his teeth on Richie’s skin. “How dare you call me that? You’re such an asshole!”

“Eddie, Eds, baby, don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

“Overreacting?” Oh fuck, wrong question. “You think I’m overreacting? You literally told me that I’m being a bitch because I told you-“

“You were nagging Eds. I didn’t mean to call you that okay? It just slipped.” His voice wavered a bit, breaking midsentence. He caught a glimpse of Eddie, who looked as if he was going to burst at any moment. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Eddie nipped, turning to face the window.

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Dishonored Gothic
  • You are playing a Clean Hands playthrough. You are discovered with no more sleep darts. Goddamnit.
  • The rooftop taunts you. You should be able to pass it with Blink. As you grasp for the ledge, you miss it by a hair and fall to the ground. Everyone hears.
  • It’s in the middle of an assassination. You hear the Song. Yes, that song. You try to move on, disregarding the guard’s black magic. You succumb and start humming against your will. What do you do with a drunken sailor…
  • Why does Peiro need all of this junk? What is turpentine worth on the black market? Why doesn’t he just sell these perfectly legal items on the normal market? It doesn’t matter. Instead of finishing your mission, a zombie-like trance envelopes you and collects every trinket in Dunwall.
  • Red Boyle. Black boyle. White Boyle. You want to snap all three of their necks. Viva la revolucion.
  • Animal Possession wears off just as you pass a crowd of people. Goddamnit.
  • The Outsider drones on. Your mind goes numb. Everything goes numb. You’ve had to listen to this same speech eleven times because you forget to save after the Shrine.
  • You see a slight glimmer to your side. Chills race down your back and your heart drops. The tallboy sees you. Goddamnit.
  • It’s your seventh playthrough. You can’t handle Pendleton’s speeches anymore. Even Piero sounds like sandpaper. You sink your blade into Callista. The Loyalist Conspiracy is dissolved.
  • This is your first High Chaos run. Samuel looks at you in disgust. You look at you in disgust. Your heart withers away.
  • The Heart beats fervently looking your the Rune. You can’t reach it. You can hear the shrill call taunting you. Insanity sets in.
  • Weepers and rats swarm into on you as you run out of health. You open your arms to them. Death no longer scares you.
  • The game is over. Finally. You are free. Knife of Dunwall and Brigmore Witches comes out. Goddamnit.
RELUCTANCE
by Robert Frost

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question ‘Whither?’

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season.
—  Reluctance, by Robert Frost.

I feel compelled to post this every year at this time. It sums up the late November moment for me.
i. The North wind cannot rival
your cold, withering heart.


ii. We were both Alice,
drinking just because it was
suggested to us,
getting too big until
buildings couldn’t hold us,
until we were destroying homes.
There’s claustrophobia in
outgrowing someone.


iii. Your love is selfish want.
You chose me to die on a
desert island with you.
We’re more Lord of the Flies than
Swiss Family Robinson.
I’m still finding ways to blame you.
I might be paranoid but that
doesn’t mean you’re not the beast.


iv. I would have chosen you over anyone
but I was one in
a baker’s dozen
to you.


v. You want someone to
be your cheerleader.
I’m another
goal for you to score.


vi. My mother
loves spiritual contemplation
and meditation
but I can only be still on the
outside.
I can only contemplate you.
I am a tempest.
Or you are.
Or we are.
Or we were.


vii. Your father
treats your mother
as if he is her high lord.
Just like his father before him.
Your love is hierarchy.
Two guesses who comes out on top.


viii. I’m on the other side
of all my old metaphors now.
You’re the car,
I’m the gas station.
But I refuse to be a pit stop.
Tell me my lips taste of gasoline
and watch me set us on fire.
You don’t get to destroy me,
that privilege is mine alone.


ix. Harvest season approaching;
I am the daughter of the
new moon.
Not a silver sliver
of my former self.
No, I am whole,
regardless of how
invisible I have become to you.
—  L.H.