vivaciousharold:

Then I got lost in my car alone

Down troves of fields and treasures of farms

And I cried

And I gasped until my throat was raw as thawed chicken left on the counter

And I screamed with the sheer agony of saying those words to you

And I tongued the salt water from my face and the road was…

vivaciousharold:

I love the way you say “home”, with the o loud and rambunctiously rolling on your lips. You say m like you are remembering something worth having a spark in your eye for. The h comes waltzing out of your mouth coyly because it knows what comes after. The e streams delicately like she is unsure of…

vivaciousharold:

My adjectives are starting to taste stale to me. I can’t listen to my own voice anymore. I want to capture my ideas and trap them in a tight box where they will suffocate without sunlight. I want to shed my skin and leave it behind and go where it can’t find me. I want to peel my eyelids back…

vivaciousharold:

My heart is not a ball of yarn you can claw at until you find something better to play with.

vivaciousharold:

As a little girl, I had this reoccurring dream. I would wander up this dusty road freckled with dandelions, and I’d find a tiny house. The house was leaking vines and layered by large, drooping trees. Upon seeing the house, I felt my body effortlessly fall weak. I’d slump. I’d feel a sense of…

When I was younger, I used to imagine a world where I didn’t exist. As if I could tear away chunks of flesh, abandon those pumping guts and float straight to the milky way, leaving no Hansel and Gretel trail of me.

Sometimes I curl as small as I can and lock my eyelids together. I try to squeeze…

vivaciousharold:

Why can’t I say the words that will make your body pause and your breath stumble? 

vivaciousharold:

The moon is drifting through my open window and dripping across my body. Shadows teeter-totter against the walls, leaving freckled patterns on my dusty pillow. Outside, the crickets are feasting on summer air. They are gorging on sincere bliss and sharing goblets of euphoria. Those crickets are…

vivaciousharold:

When the moon is shaking her hips and the night is content with the sound of serenity, when I breathe deep and every pore is full of peace, when everything is sweet and the dew perks awake on quiet, fresh blades.

All the good things remind me of you, because you are all the good things to me.

vivaciousharold:

Persistent emotion seems to flood my core. There is a constant stream of feelings boiling where my blood should be. I want to dance out of lovely euphoria. I want to scream wildly while clenching my fists until they turn pale. I want to be locked in a padded room and weep until I am soothed. I…