untitled

"What are you waiting for?"

Am I asking myself this question

over and over

and over, 

or am I incessantly

hoping it might be you

that is doing just the same?

Either way--

we're stuck in banks of quiet snow

a thousand thoughts between each other.

Uselessly wanting

the unwantable. 

Why?

-k.p.b.

"A Kiss"

I always believed

a kiss would feel deep 

and slow, like two

hearts slipping their hands

together comfortably.

It never seemed

accurate to depict a kiss, 

a moment of finding a 

soul behind closed lids, 

as fireworks or an explosion. 

It never seemed right. 

(I guess I'll never know, for now.)

-k.p.b.

jonquil

It's a bit insane, this freedom within me of no longer feeling chained to you. I feel as though the earth is singing a song once more and the flowers will be coming soon and tomorrow will be a cloudy morning ready for books to be read and hot cocoa and warm blueberry muffins with melting butter sliding of its soft gorgeous smile. I am truly euphorically happy! I was happy when you sat beside me, whilst I read a book, and I didn't mind when you walked away. I was happy when you talked to me and almost listened, but I didn't mind at all when I felt awkward or stumbling for words. I am happy because I don't care anymore! I care about you kid, I always will. That's what friends do. They make ropes they hardly untie without an unmitigated reason. But I am free. What a feeling that is. I sink in the warm bath of peace and contentment and elation and it makes me feel as alive as I did when my heart broke over you.
When I think about those lonely nights of crying myself into stained cheeks, laying between my bed and my bookshelf, with a box of junk that means so much to me spilling out around me; when I remember how angry I was--oh the rage that shook from my pouring tears and I watched you drive away and saw that awful look in your eyes and so much more I could hardly explain--it almost seems unfair how much I felt knowing you will never know any of it. Not from me. Not about me. Never. But it truly doesn't matter anymore.
I'm happy.
That's what matters.
I feel more happy than I have in quite sometime (or what feels like a short lifetime ago). That's what makes me skip all the way to my sister's bed tonight ("the magic carpet") and dance alone in the kitchen eating pizza and feeling more alive than ever!
It's moments like this I remember why I am alive.
(It's breaking your heart that you're reminded you are alive).

Some happy songs I listened to today:
"Could You Be Loved" by: Bob Marely
"Come and Get Your Love" by: Redbone
"Love Never Felt So Good" by: Michael Jackson (ft. Justin Timberlake)
"Come on Eileen" by: Dexys Midnight Runners
"Hustle" by: Van McCoy
"Escape (The Pina Colada Song)" by: Rupert Holmes

gentle - j.d.

I had a dream of you
once
stopping me within a fluid 
crowd 
trying to drown me
with their intoxicating music

you 
paused
perfectly,
stopping below a whisper
below the atmosphere
below anything that 
taints a broken heart

and you grasped my hand
gently
a gentle breeze pushing against 
the catacombs of my soul

you reached below the unabashed 
exiled corners of myself
most people avoid

most people fear 
for they cannot 
push their eyes into
or sculpt with their foolish hands
or drag their famished tongues 
across it

but not you

you unearthed something
when you pushed 
your soft 
gentle
innocent hand
on mine

you melted
the morning sun within me
and 
there is little sorrow
when I whisper
--and I hardly 
whisper for just anybody--
"I am not sad anymore,

seven days I 
wept for you

a week of pure torture
I first thought

seven days I
left my books
forgot the music

 and 
didn't dance. 

seven days
I wept 
over my dying Atlas
knowing that if I must die 
inside
one thing ought
to live
from my sadness."

then my whisper shattered 
spitting into a
spark
a fire of a shout

(perhaps lying about 
the sadness I did not feel):

"did you stand there
all alone?

did you cry 
for me 
in your smallest moment 
of pity?

do you  
taste 
the pang of 
bitterness
exceeding mortal thought
devouring a mortal heartbeat that exhales
like a sad
frowning accordion?

did you have to wait
'til sunrise
to make your 
decision
about loving me?"

and to myself:
did you find it?

but it wasn't until
that blinding sun was shepherded 
into its own soul asylum 

that I forgot how 
happy one can be
in the shadow of a natural 
satellite

or
slow dancing in a burning room
forever.

-k.p.b. 

Jan. 26. 2016
Tuesday
12:35PM

amelie

les temps sont durs pour les rêveurs

ocean eyes [part I]

No fair
You really know how to make me cry
When you gimme those ocean eyes
I'm scared
I've never fallen from quite this high
Falling into your ocean eyes
Those ocean eyes

-j.d. 

Yours, and yours alone

You know what's funny?
There's this strange sensation I've only tasted a few lucky moments of my life and no matter what I do I can't seem to get enough of it.
It sounds a little weird, especially as it rolls so smoothly, so effortlessly off of my tongue, but it's the small moment I get when we hug goodbye and as I'm shorter than most people, and you taller than many, I turn my head (so as not to bury my nose into your sternum) and you pull me tightly in, encasing every ounce of me, and as I turn, my tiny ear buries itself in the endless nook of your sturdy chest--the place between your broad shoulder-blades, leading precisely where your heart is--and I listen.
I do more than that.
I push my ear softly and feel your heart beating, loudly, so loudly, and I can't help wondering how no one else has the satisfaction of hearing it, of falling passionately wild over the quintessential beauty that rhythm of organ brings me.
I can feel it pulsing through my ear, rushing through the canals of my blood straight to my own racing heartbeat--creating wild ideas about us, making me as alive as a falling star about to meet a supernova and then, just as swiftly as a tear is wiped away, it's gone.
And I wait for the next time we say goodbye, only for your strange rhythm to allay my senses, to awaken me once more and remind me why saying goodbye can be so beautiful.
And I'll have you know, if I were a little more brave, I'd whisper to you the truth about your heartbeat. I would gather myself close to your ear, breathe in the ravishing smell that has become you, and I'd tell you it's the most beautiful I've ever had the accidental pleasure to feel inside me.
I would say, quietly close to you, my heart racing as I draw nearer, "If I could have but one heart, and I've heard thousands of heartbeats in my small lifetime, to listen to all my life--it would be yours, and yours alone."

-k.p.b.
January 17, 2015
Sunday 10:01PM
"Pavane pour une infante défunte" by: Maurice Ravel
(it almost perfectly encapsulates the sensation of hearing a beautiful heartbeat)

My friend Caitlyn

Vincent

[11 March, 1883]

In my view I am often immensely rich, not in money,
but (although just now perhaps not all the time) rich
because I have found my metier, something I can
devote myself to heart and soul and that gives
inspiration and meaning to my life.

My moods vary, of course, but nevertheless I have on average acquired a certain serenity.
I have a strong belief in art,
a certain faith that it is a powerful current that
carries a man to a haven, although he himself has to put
in an effort too. I think in any case that it is such a
blessing when a man has found his metier, that I don't
count myself among the unfortunates.

I mean that even if I were in some considerable
difficulties, and if there were dark days in my life, I
would not wish to be taken for one of the unfortunates,
nor would it be right.

-v.v.g

together

we sat together listening to "clair de lune" by Claude Debussy
just us too
nestled in a beautiful moment
and it panged inside me
the realization as she said, "i love this song"
that no matter how much I cared for this song too
nothing would stir me into ardent care as much as her--
nothing on this earth and beyond compared to the great veracity of loving my dear sister
"so do i." i replied softly, "but it makes me sad."
she "humphed"
"it's a good sad." i finished, "the kind of sad you want to have tea with."
yet little did she know that a portion of my sadness,
through no fault of her or my own
was because her heart was beating
so close to mine
and someday wouldn't.

-kiersten p. benson