Balloons are so weird… “happy birthday, here’s a plastic sack of my breath”
I whispered only one promise to myself over and over until I became the God of my own prayers: This is how I would run into your arms when I saw you next — incapable of stopping and aware of the consequences.
— Carrie Rudzinski- Point North (via theperksofbeingmandie)
Felicity
Cloudy ink suspended,
the hue unreachable
as though the tongue
could not quite
salivate.
She is sitting on a
shoulder - tell me
fellow, is it yours?
She is whispering odes
and lyrics; her tongue
tickles your ear.
Prisms protrude from
her mouth filling
the cavity that is
a head, with
refracted
beams and assorted
frequencies.
They are jumping,
stimulating senses
feared forgotten.
You are returned
to felicity.
I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go.
— F. Scott Fitzgerald (via muse)
