"In the room of everything I have lost
nobody is crying. There are boxes and boxes
of lipgloss, sunglasses and cellphones.
All my baby teeth are crushed into dust
on the floor. My virginity is around here somewhere
in a box marked “New Years Eve, 2008”
In the corner
Something hangs in the air like regret, or acceptance
or maybe some strange mix of both.
And of course in the room there is you.
I remember when you said you loved me.
Kissed me under a streetlight and said
“Of course I’ll never forget you. The rain in
your hair, how your mouth tastes like Marlboros
something about you burns in me. And all of it
sounded like a promise to save me.
I thought you could absolve me of my foolishness.
My nightmares. My glass skin. I thought you could
heal me. I could wash the plaster from your fists."
— In The Room Of Everything I Have Lost, Clementine von Radics (via mer-se)
(Source: clementinevonradics, via mer-se)
"Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes."
— The Winter of the Air (via mer-se)