139: congratulations

found via weheartit

This is hardly a congratulatory letter. I'm just saying that things at this stage have finished and we're all moving on. From now on, there are two stages you'll come to know: move ahead or linger in between. Move head with vigor and expectations, great ones. I'm not sure what may come for you, good or bad, but I can tell you what happens with the in-between. This is definitive.

Impressionist have captured it between sunset and sunrise, an ever changing board that finally settled right in between. The middle is where the heart hurts the most, where the pain is dragged across the floorboards leaving stains that appear unwashable by time. Always fixable but never fixed, to be unable to move forward but have nothing to turn back to. It's the impression failure has left upon you.

138: numbers and counting

 found via fullofstars

Some numbers exist because they can be created. Likewise some words are said because they can be said without any meaning. The universe is said to have expanded at thirty-fourth of a second, something altogether happening faster than the speed of light. Parts of those sentences may be impossible, but they are written and then believed because the words look and feel tangible. Words, like impossible, have a ridge and surface, they create a world within the ink just as the numbers create a time that may not have been. Numbers and words slip in between the spaces, creating a pocket for dreams.

137: in circles

found via http://iwantmybearsuit.tumblr.com/

In her face, more stories than I've told,

her hands, more novels than I've ever read,

her legs traveled more than I've ever seen.

she, Mara, encompasses all that I've ever dreamed.

When all I have are words for no one,

and I tell her so, I envy her, but she tells me,
"Your mouth inspires me," but I think her kind.
And so we continue this little envy game.

while dreaming.

She heard his voice in her dreams again. She had been dreaming a lot lately, where he appeared like the mist on her windshield. The songs he played on his guitar trickled like the raindrops outside, and danced in her mind without a partner. It was his haunting that convinced her she still loved him, how his voice slipped in and out like a whisper to find him. All this and how she left him so easily only proved that she didn't need him again. They were all lingering moments of wasted time, never given the light of day. But these dreams with him can only be described as nightmares.

Muse 135: the feline

found via marlenashores

Their nickname for her was "Black Cat." After freshmen year, word got around that dating her was the equivalent of dating bad luck. She was a gorgeous. A girl with lots of cash, time and an honest heart that controlled the muscles on her face, but in the end, she was a psycho, the kind of girl that you heard screaming at 3AM on a Monday morning. Two guys failed their exams, consecutively, after breaking up with her. One senior was erased from the Delta Tau Delta files after being seen holding her hand. She was something of an urban legend, a believable myth that had people reading, but never living. When she smiled, guys crippled at her loveliness, never stopping to think about the consequences, except maybe a shot for one night. Like all superstitions, breaking things brought bad luck, and breaking her heart brought seven years of it.

Muse 134: by yourself

found via burcumbaygut

how long does it take before you admit that you can't swim alone? even michael phelps paraded his fame for friends, girls and nights without the cold. i know the waters grow icier as the weather changes, and the warmth doesn't make it quite to your toes. you'll keep your head above water, your eyes on that far distant goal, but your arms can't take you that far. the waters will win you over, the depth will be your coffin, and the only arms to hold you will be yours... so can i come along the way?

Muse 133: will you love me forever

photo credit: zseike

There's an urban legend about a wedding in Canada. The ceremony took place in a clearing of someone's vast four acre backyard where a canopy of maple trees would shaded the bride from the harsh sun. As a result, the place was rather dim and poorly lit. The bride herself requested the theme autumn, so gorgeous leaves of red, brown and yellow burned in the middle of summer. By tradition, the groom is never to see his bride - it's considered bad luck - but these were modern times, where superstition and religion were just by products of fear. The groom met his lovely bride the night before and they made plans to only have eyes for each other. Their love would be as sturdy as a tree; the rings around their knuckles would grow like the rings of age. When he kissed her goodnight, he said he looked forward to the morning and slipped into the bride maid's room for their final secret rendezvous.
As the bride stepped onto the maroon carpet the next day, her movements were stiff and aching until she reached the other end. The groom could barely make out her face, underneath the floral veil, but smiled eagerly. And she smiled in return. When the pastor finished the speech, the groom reached to lift the veil. His fingers quickly swept the cloth away, and he stalled. His face fixed with a mask of terror as he stared at his wife. She had the hollow eyes of a tree trunk, where the rings went around forever and ever.

Muse 132: the magic box

My cousin has a magic box in the basement. No one ever went downstairs with her, but she always had everything we needed. Once we were building a fort in the living room with chairs, blankets and she got really excited, more excited than my two year old niece, and ran downstairs. When she came back, she was holding a turtle that projected stars from it's shell. It was perfect for our childhood illusion. She turned it on, and the Big Dipper lit up on the ceiling, but we were sitting with our legs propped up on the chairs. Her face looked visible disappointed at the dismembered fort.

"What happened?"
"Oh," Sam shrugged, "it's blocking the TV."

Muse 131: Drowning

photo credits:marie edwards

"The water's soiled," he said. "I'm not sure if you want to take a bath just right now."

It was dirty. The rusty tea colour was a mixture of bronzed apricots and chinese medicine. Small handfuls of scattered iron laid at the bottom of the tub like dirt. Anna dipped her toe into the hot water half expecting her body to slowly rot right off. The result could be powerful, a dare from fate, or it could be poison. She imagined this to be do or die. After all she had the entire tub's worth of time as if filled with sewage water to change her mind. By now the water was at her ankle, and it felt like her entire body was decomposing. Her eyes clutched shut like tiny fists and she got ready for the plunge.

Muse 130: Surface

found via jamwee

On the surface he was flawless, untouched and completely perfect with a milky overtone that made your legs tingle. That was the kind of description he asked for whenever someone came across him. I saw him once, very miraculously, well luckily, and paused for a full nine seconds. It was a stop and stare kind of beauty, where I glazed my hand over the surface of his photograph and dreamt that there was more to him than skin.

Muse 129: once,

Once was enough to destroy everything she worked so hard for. Once in a series of continuous movements as if it had been purposefully played to hurt her, taunting her to stop, quit and regress into stereotypes, controversies and hate. She didn't need to look further for failure or devastation, it was right in front of her. In her. A result of her. It was, as always, just as always, much easier to give up than to fight.

Muse 128: Angelfish

butterflies part II

found via radiganneuhalfen

Life has always been the deepest part of the ocean. It's all about the great immeasurable count of competition where numbers eventually become obsolete by blackness. I didn't realize how dark the waters were, how blind I've been this entire time, until I saw the light. It was small, like hope, and so far away. The waters pushed against me, a slick wet embryo carrying me towards the light where it got bigger and bigger. Like an angel's halo overheard, the light carried a warm glow. If I just touched it, I could go home, reach the top overhead and swim out of the black waters. That's when I realized that small array of hope was a beacon of blinding truth, and hope was an anglerfish where there was a monster on the other end. With closed eyes, I retreated into the dark. 

Muse 127: the masked butterfly

 butterflies part II

I leaned down to cradle the butterfly in my hands, before I noticed it's crafty body. The center of it was nothing like its wings, the most beautiful part. In fact it was fuzzy, covered in little spikes that mirrored it's caterpillar form. Its eyes were small and invisible, black piercings while the rest of the body was section like two rotten sausages. Completely horrified by how it looked up close, I got up, dusted my hands, crushing the butterfly into the sand as I walked away.

Muse 126: butterflies

found via 365vignettes

I was walking on the beach when I saw a butterfly. Its brown wings were the colour of wet sand, the black lines, neat dark grooves drawn by my pinky. The butterfly was neatly pressed, like a dried flower in between pages of books, into the shaven rocks, unmoving. I felt sad, my heart getting heavier by the second. This butterfly, magically kept perfect underneath this shoe, caused the world to collapse around me. My tears would be for this single butterfly, a beautiful winged creature that represented a class of metaphors beyond simple description. Love was represented in this single insect.