I Never Could
I Never Could
With a shy smile and a dusty guitar
You sing me a song about rainy afternoons
You close your eyes and get lost in the lines
Leaving me envious
Of the words that left your lips
And those strings under your fingertips
I want to reach out, hold your hand
Instead, I hold myself back
Try not to break the spell
But you pull me close, hold me tight
Between now and then, I give up the fright.
It's not a fireworks-and-butterflies kiss.
Instead, it feels more like a sea breeze
And coming home
I peek a glance to see that your eyes
Are closed the way you do when you sing your lines.
Your arms wrap me from behind,
Your head on my shoulder, breath on my neck.
You hum a song
That we claimed as ours, like a wind in my ears.
This time around, it's your guitar that's left envious.
I kiss your freckles, scars, and moles.
And wonder how the songs could leave your lips
Because I never could.
More Posts from Whats-in-a-username and Others
to finding;
hands reaching out towards each other in the depths of the sea, a lone lighthose standing in the midst of the ocean, waves that roar and grow only taller, the sea spray and the salty breeze kissing your face, odd things washing up onto shore, letters written in cursive, effortless script, beholding the words of a lover.
he is half my soul.
the song of achilles by madeleine miller // work song by hozier // unsourced image // achilles come down by gang of youths // unsourced image
Man just went from this.....
To this !!!!
CoolCooCooCooCooCoolCoolCoolCool 🥲🥲 not feeling unloved all !! 🥲
@the2headedcalf / On Love, Alain de Botton / @tilthat / Céline Sciamma / Twitter: Nightshiftmp3 / Twitter: Thepartypope / Portrait of a Lady on Fire / The Clean House, Sarah Ruhl / The History of the Band-Aid / weird-facts.org /
“Mais, vrai, j'ai trop pleuré! Les Aubes sont navrantes (But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking.)”
—
Arthur Rimbaud,
Le Bateau Ivre (The Drunken Boat)
My Storyteller 💜
His hair is grey
And vision is blurred
His spends his day
In bed, one-third.
He taught me to read,
And told me to lead.
He taught me to write,
And told me to fight.
Evening's he spent
Saying his prayer.
He hates to depend
Loves his arm chair.
Night's he spent
Telling us tales
About the places he went
With all the details.
A child's first teacher
Is it's mother
But my first teacher
Is my grandfather.
His hair is grey
And vision is blurred
His smile never fades
He's my world.
(04.12.20)
sometimes i read a book that i just saw and like the cover and then i go on pinterest and discover that i have joined an international cult and thre is no way out of it
Writing period dramas in the discord, lads
i overthink….therefore….i overam….
"if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more"
"whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same"
"my very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame."
"my affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."
"you pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope… I have loved none but you."
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