When you gently tickle my foot or thoughtfully mumble “good morning baby” into the curve of my neck, place the palm of your hand on the small of my back, trace little patterns on my thigh, or kiss the tip of my nose. I wouldn’t trade these tender treasures, bestowed so absentmindedly, for flowers or chocolate or even poetry. The way you fall asleep beside me, curled around my body, while I do last minute exam studying, is its own kind of poetry.
The sounds of the birds, tittering and cooing outside my window this morning
Saw Andrew Bird in concert (opened by the very talented Patrick Watson) last night with Don, in Baltimore. Although I was bone-tired by the end, it felt so good to be under the lights, right next to his stage. It was incredible, seeing this awe-inspiring violin god, my hero, put on a hella great show right before my eyes. The best part- Don’s fingers intertwined with mine, tapping along to the beat, wrapped around my waist. Everything was golden, at night, the lights, near the harbor. Despite the grit of the city, everything glittered. Walking back through the near-empty streets after Bird had taken his final bow, I was a shivering, wild-haired mess, flushed from excitement, exhausted beyond belief, but he took me in his arms and he kissed me, in the rain.
| — | Paris, je t’aime (via thresca) |
I cherish my home. Sometimes I forget, in the mad rush of everything, but it’s lovely to have a place to remember. Safe, clean, peaceful, sun-drenched, quiet. Alone in the afternoons, nobody to please or to pretend around, just books and a couch to curl up on, “only breath”, as Rumi said. Sometimes that’s all I need.
I’m 18 I’m 18 I’m 18 today…!
Woke up at 5am before anyone else and am celebrating by eating nutella and doing AP bio hw that I should have finished last night. Don’t feel legal quite yet, maybe cup of tea is the remedy to that?



