A Pretty Little Message To Myself
A Pretty Little Message to Myself
A boy with eyes like glass jars swishing with waves of the blue abyss,
I wrote my pretty little poems
about a pretty little boy with starlight eyes,
moonshine hair.
The lives I regret to wish
that I had lived,
The girls.
Belgium, Switzerland.
French and Italian and American
Geneva, Brussels.
I try to say my life has changed;
Never the pretty little boy
with the odd Swiss accent,
and the lopsided smile,
and the shy, wry, understated wit.
Never again.
More Posts from My-dearest-giulia and Others
versailles
vintage perfume bottles, dusty books, stained glass windows, velvet sofas, dried roses, lipstick smudged coffee cups, shiny shoes, whispered wishes.
sometimes i read a phrase in a poem or a story or i see the clouds amble in the sky traced by sunlight or i hear a specific combination of notes on a piano and i just get so overwhelmed with a really specific feeling that i can't really name but i know that this feeling is so human and so tender at its core and that i am a tiny little part of a world so delightfully rich with sensations and i exist to experience this very feeling because it stems from the pure human love for coexistence with the world
“She was a glorious doll, so fair and delicate! She did not seem created for the sorrows of this world.”
— Hans Christian Andersen, What the Moon Saw (1866)
ACHILLES AND THE LONDON BOY:
Photo Board
Center: James Leicester
Left: Diana Mayor
Center: Henrik Olsen
Left: Theo Fraser, Center: Alexander FitzDonald
Center: Alexander FitzDonald
Left: Theo Fraser, Right: Alexander FitzDonald
Left: James Leicester, Left Center: Henrik Olsen, Right Center: Theo Fraser, Right: Alexander FitzDonald
Back: Diana Mayor, Front: Alexander FitzDonald
Left: Alexander FitzDonald, Center: Theo Fraser, Right: Diana Mayor
Left: Alexander FitzDonald, Center: Diana Mayor, Left: Theo Fraser
Day 2: Favorite Poem
I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There’s nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began—
I loved my friend.
- Langston Hughes
(Here’s a gorgeous article on the poem)
*drowns myself in romanticized idealizations*
"Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood ".
George Orwell, 1984
It's always: "wanna hang out" but never "hey let's create a secret society and read literature and poetry"
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