salinae.
oliver, the sun won't rise for another three hours or more and you
have me rapt until she wakes the treebranches and windowpanes.
do you have the time to teach me love?
i am not so well versed, but i've heard it means the following things:
staying cocooned in the bedsheets until noon has passed.
notes on the fridge door reminding me to use the opened milk.
letting me think you forgot my birthday,
and surprising me three days later with lindor chocolates
and a pack of morinaga sweets
and a night curled up on the couch with the foreign movies i love so much.
talking honestly about our histories.
forgiving my past mistakes.
worrying for me every single appointment with my therapist,
knowing that it wears me down talking about these things for hours on end
and running your fingers through my hair when i flop next to you with the weight of sorrow clutching around my shoulders.
admitting you've been wrong and trying your hardest to change your ways
and apologising from the very depths of your soul when you fail again.
not minding that i'm so caught up in someone who's been dead for years
and being confident in the knowledge that it doesn't change a thing.
having one leg longer than the other and laughing along when i take the piss.
we were together on tyre swings at two in the morning deep in misty woods
with three joints and a bottle of vodka to make us talkative when it was first
revealed to me that you are some ancient earth being who can read soulsecrets.
my skin read the heart sutra in braille and you burrowed beneath it and have
stayed there since, calming my inflamed organs and keeping me awake at night,
whispering your own scriptures along the inside of my flesh like invisible spell seals.
a magic wielder, a witch, tying me down to the earth and promising eternities and
afterlives and your own brand of happiness to swirl around my eyes forever,
freedom from the divine nightmares vivid in colour that plague me like the trials of egypt.
oliver, do you have the time?
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Comments
calming my inflamed organs and keeping me awake at night"
i love you i love you i do.
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It’s a bit hard to love me when you’re dead.
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30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
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It’s a bit hard to love me when you’re dead.
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
--
" ...he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."
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30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
--
It’s a bit hard to love me when you’re dead.
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