Copyright © M.E.S.

The morning breeze finds ways to fill in the crevices of my skin

I feel cold, but it is a relief.

To feel alive, in tune, softly careless.

Subtly outspoken.

I never felt the need to declare or prove my love.

I show it with my own way

A text, a call, a letter, a parcel 

Something

I will give as selflessly as I can

Because that is what brings me peace and joy.

To listen is a sacred act of bravery and patience.

To observe without an ulterior motive is the moment we are at a type of peace in ourselves.

The behaviour we practice after being hurt (even on purpose) will influence our healing.

I am still learning to be brave and patient; to be at peace and practice solidarity.

Oh the wonders life brings.

Copyright © M.E.S.

Wanna be like this...

http://vaninnavaninni.tumblr.com/post/174533269461/the-strings-on-the-kithara-are-of-100-pure-silk


(If you listen to something tonight, let it be this)

Let the sound remind you of the joys of life
The long summer days
The unknown sorrow
The weightless relief

Let it bring you one step closer to acceptance
To realisation
To forgiveness
To dignity

For, the purest of feeling is not love itself
It is the actual practice of love.
It is to live with unapologetic passion and honesty-
only then will you honor the life you have left in memory of those who are gone.

Copyright © M.E.S.

In Sappho’s poem, her addresses to Gods are orderly, perfect poetic products, but the way—and this is the magic of fragments—the way that poem breaks off leads into a thought that can’t ever be apprehended. There is the space where a thought would be, but which you can’t get hold of. I love that space. It’s the reason I like to deal with fragments. Because no matter what the thought would be if it were fully worked out, it wouldn’t be as good as the suggestion of a thought that the space gives you. Nothing fully worked out could be so arresting, so spooky.

—	Anne Carson, from an interview in ‘The Art of Poetry No. 88′

August

The yellow-brown focus

The mild but sweet humidity 

The scent of  morning coffee, honey and mortality

Let us share the dysphoria of the sun

So we can accept pleasure

So we can lose ourselves to time

So we can replenish our urges

Let us welcome the night

So we can fulfill youth's expectations

So we can watch our hands make their own way

So we can feel, after everything, we made something pure in the midst of our futility 

(Gifs are not my own)
Copyright © M.E.S.