|—||Salma Deera (via writingwillows)|
|—||Ten word story (vvholed)|
look carefully and see who they are after a long
day of not seeing you.
because what you want is not to have somebody
who hurtles a sonnet down your throat—
who forgets you told them it was sore before they did it.
you do not want someone who pins you down on your
bed and kisses your temples and calls this his prayer for the day
but becomes a non-believer for the next 18 hours.
but somebody who picks up the phone when they leave
the place that has caused them to be separate from you.
who, after a long day, simply sighs and says ‘I’m coming home to you.’
|—||Salma Deera, Lessons From My Grandmother #3 (via writingwillows)|
Sunday morning. You’re clutching your chest on the bathroom floor wondering how science can explain the paralysing pain in your chest when you remember he has left you. You’ll find one of his hairs on your pillow, you’ll feel your bones break all over again. You’ll wonder what you did wrong, why he didn’t want you. This is temporary. This roaring tsunami of confusion and pain that erodes your ribs and sweeps away the remains of your heart with every wave. Know that it will end. Just do not go back, don’t let that thought enter your mind, even if he begs you.
He did not know how to love you the first time, why the fuck would he know how to love you the second?
|—||A note to myself // E.E (via be-fearless-brave-and-kind)|
Every last stroke of yourself that you’ve left on the page.
All of the damaged bits,
all of the fire,
all of the beauty.
I want to read your fine print, slowly,
pulling myself across your disclaimers, and your warnings and the parts labeled “Do Not Enter”.
And when your writing gets sharp I want to pull your anger off of the page, soften it in my mouth and give it back to you with all of the love that waits for you here.
I want to read the chapters of your life about your father and your mother, where they loved hard and then not at all.
I want to read about that time your heart broke and how Allah repaired it with his infinite kindness.
I want to read your palms
and the lines in your forehead and kiss them with pleading lips.
I want to know my way through your vastness, through your dark, through your empty, through your full and your wide.
I want you to tell me how you feel and know exactly the place it comes from.
I want to be able to say I love you and then read it over and over again in your eyes.
|—||Key Ballah, The Ways in Which I hope to Know You. (via keywrites)|
It was a Wednesday sometime in October
You’d invited me back to your house for the first time since we met
I noticed you glancing at the picture on your dressing table and then glancing back at me
I held my own hand to stop my thoughts from spilling out into the vast space between us
It was in that moment I realised that she was to you, what he had been to me
That she had taken your heart too
It may not have been on the pier on a frosty morning in January
But she ripped it out with hands that had held your bones together for two summers just the same as he had done to me
It took you another year to admit that you’d never love me like you loved her
It took me 365 days after that, one dark morning in October with quivering limbs and an aching heart,
To find the courage to leave you.
|—||I will not compete anymore // E.E (via be-fearless-brave-and-kind)|
Love is not made from grace, it is made from hunger,
and hungry people are starved mad.
they do not eat softly—
they leave nothing for the flies.
|—||Salma Deera, Lessons From My Grandmother #4 (via writingwillows)|