Source: We Heart It

Source: We Heart It

Vengeance seeking, forever raging.

“That is — your friend?"

"Philtatos," Achilles replied, sharply. Most beloved.

This is how winter feels like to me.

And Charles Bukowski poems.

Slowdive, cold wind, the day ends too quickly. Usual cigarette tastes different and I can’t comprehend any thought or feelings, it’s just constant void and unknown ache. I really do hate winter, yet I enjoy it’s silence. The numbness.

And there was him, laughing. Lighting up the whole room as he always did. When he was near me I would always feel like my heart is finally at peace, so much like bathing in the sun on a warm mid-July afternoon as the breeze gently blows.

And then there was the smile. The smile he gave everyone on this planet, the smile that always reminds me I will never be someone who is more than this. But it was beautiful as always, brutally beautiful if I dare say. It really is.

“Hey” He greeted first.

“Hey…” Words slipped out of my mind as soon as I open my mouth. “I can see you did good job on concealing that bushy brows”. Shouldn’t have said that.

He raises his drawn thin eyebrows. “I didn’t think you’d recognize me right away. I thought I did pretty good job on this time’s theatrical make up.” I could see him blushing underneath the thick ghostly white face paint, his ears were basically on fire. I couldn’t help but basically chuckle secretly.

Of course I’d recognize you. You are always lingering inside me, you are always wandering around my mind. Even if I forget all the beautiful things that are left in the world, I would still remember your face, your eyes, your voice.

This pain, that is either longing or nostalgia will definitely never reach you.

I’m leaving tomorrow.

E. Hughes, from "My Mother at Twenty-One"