a single flower, a day

01/ temporary fix

2011-07-31T21:24:00.000-07:00

This never had to be forever. I'm okay with the temporary. Like the pain of a tattoo, in seconds, in minutes, in memories that resolve faster during replay. It's easier to say, it hurt the first time and remember that pain to numb second time. And then repeat the progress so that the pain never existed, or at least now it's been regulated as a part of simply waking up. I can hide the rest under makeup.

139: congratulations

2010-08-21T23:51:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-20T21:43:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-18T21:35:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-08-17T21:40:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-14T18:43:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-13T15:41:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-11T20:57:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-10T14:44:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-08T23:50:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-07T13:17:00.000-07:00

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,

2010-08-04T22:23:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-02T19:19:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-01T23:30:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-01T23:29:00.000-07:00

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.

Muse 125: glass cases

2010-07-31T00:25:00.000-07:00

found via becylouise

They'll put us in museums one day.

For what?

Well, for changing the world, Frankie. We're going to change the world.

You make us sound like Pinky and the Brain.

He smiled. Hah, well it's easier now. We'll do it one follower at a time.

Hm.

What, you don't believe me?

I don't know. I always thought the people they put in museums didn't think they were important. Like artists... like Monet, Van Gogh. The other people, they put in magazines.

Muse 124: something you don't do

2010-07-30T21:02:00.000-07:00

cat & mouse part III

As we walked back, I kept turning around, wondering if Kevin would show up. It wasn't right to write him off so quickly as dead or simply missing. A gutted, pit feeling in my stomach continued to eat away what was inside - a feeling quite similar to how we all felt when we first entered the waters. This wasn't right, this wasn't something we should be doing. Every once in a while I could open my mouth, but Mary closed her hand around mine, as if it were my mouth. Surprisingly enough, when we reached the car, Kevin was waiting for us. His arms were crossed, like his eyebrows knitted together, and he grumbled, "It only took you twenty minutes to give up."

"Well it felt like longer!" Glen snapped.

The rest of the words remained stuck, like a thick coating of saliva, as I ran to him. Kevin's face, dark and unrecognizable, held hints of apathy. I threw my arms around him, but he never moved.

Muse 123: they told you not to be there

2010-07-30T20:16:00.000-07:00

cat & mouse part II

We swam until Kevin disappeared. The bubbles lead us until we were standing in shallow water, so we decided to take a look around. In my head the warnings they had said replayed as if they were taunting me with an "I told you so." The lake was a place we were never supposed to be. They warned us about them, not to let them catch us, and now, "Look what happened to Kevin." We walked in circles, twitching in fear every time we heard a noise that sounded like the click of a safety switch or a thump against the trees. When the sky began to grow dark, we got scared and someone convinced all of us to go home. "It's going to be too dark soon."

"What about Kevin?" I asked sadly. The rest of them hesitated, then shrugged as if it wasn't their business.

Muse 122: cat and mouse

2010-07-24T21:35:00.000-07:00

found via iamabilliontinyfeathers

They said to never let them catch you skinny-dipping. Don't let them catch you; don't ever let them, they warned ambiguously. Frankly, we didn't give a shit. The three of us went to the lake and stripped for the other three boys to see. We dared them to follow us into the cool collection, staring at the clouds while keeping an eye on them. That caused our eyes to go batshit for a while before they splashed into the water, coming after us, swimming underneath us for a good scare. The boys caught us, by choice. And no one else did, so we went again.

Muse 121: the worms we eat

2010-07-24T02:12:00.000-07:00

found via inspireme

If we were made of the objects that we loved, the emotions that we sleep in or the thoughts that we share, we'd be an unfortunately looking bunch. We're ghosts imprinted from the skeleton of others, under different coloured skin. Make myself fifty percent translucent, underneath this body is worms from the same can you were from. I would say more, but that is all I have thought about today. It's enough.

Muse 120: starship VI

2010-07-22T21:27:00.000-07:00

"What are you trying to say? That in the morning, you want to see me gone?”

The alcohol was speaking for us. The flood gates opened and I shook my head, holding onto him tightly, even more tightly than he held onto me. Here was my anchor to the past, and he wasn't dragging me down. No, he wasn't dragging me down the way I made it sound to be, he was just keeping me stable until he came to save me. You can't save a ship that is lost as sea unless you can track it down. He's anchored me so tightly to the bottom that I can't move, and I will not move until he's found me. I dug my head into the space between his chin and collarbone, kissing the skin that belonged there, and shook my head again.
"No," I whispered as I spoke truthfully, no...

I expect you'll be gone by the time I get up.

Muse 119: eventually, but not now.

2010-07-21T23:30:00.000-07:00

found via pigeons&peacocks blog - by rachel crowder

Today the skirt was shorter than usual, and the top's cut lower than he recognized. Today his little girl was wearing an outfit he did not see as her Sunday best. In fact, he didn't like how he, and perhaps - well most likely - the rest of the male population, suddenly noticed how white her thighs were. "It's a bit cold outside," he said, putting down the television remote without a pause, "Don't you think you should change? And those heels look horrible. Like you'll fall and die." After a few minor alterations, his only daughter came pretty close to a 3AM hooker.

Alice blinked rapidly. Her eyes were painfully dry and irritated from her new powdered makeup, so there was also plenty of squinting. "I'll be fine Da," she stumbled over in baby steps and sloppily kissed his cheek. He felt better, in a small perverse satisfaction, when he realized that everyone could look safely down her top and find nothing to see.

She straightened her back and flipped a jacket over her shoulder. "Besides," her heels clicked like little bullets in the hard wood floor, "I have my pepper spray, rape whistle and taser all tucked away in this purse." All this was said with a comforting pat.

"Mm," he hummed, feeling more comfortable by the minute. "Did you remember to get the house keys?"

"Ah hah, I knew I forgot something!"

Muse 118: Loveliest.

2010-07-20T22:26:00.000-07:00

found via Second.Daughter

Your back. Oh my god. Just.
Your back.

I think it just may have been the loveliest thing I've ever seen. Your hair is intrusive, and your bra delicately frames all the space I have to explore. Your body is - yes, yes - a canvas, but that is an overused metaphor. Your back is the hills of misty, untouched sceneries, the new floorboards where my ballet fingers dance. Your tones are muted like pastel chalk dust, curdled milk with a hint of lemon shades. Anyone else would find your skin pale in comparison, but your back - oh my god - shines against the world's colors, which are pure and refined.

Muse 117: pursuit

2010-07-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

found via hondasniper

These days it's so difficult.

I am not endlessly searching for the words anymore. Those perfect words that make a story more beautiful than it should ever be are written by someone else. I am not pursuing the joie de vivre as properly as I should. I am not moving. I am not fresh, but a stagnant fish in a farmed pond. The flesh you eat is rotten and full of worms. A headache of black swamp water that is not even drinkable.

I am not inspired. I am not in love. The worms I want to consume are supposed to take a heart of me, the part that will turn rainbows black and white and the monotonous flashes into color. The drenched world will come back to life, and I will find hope once more. But I am not inspired. I am not in love with these words. I have no one to write for, not even myself. Not when I have never loved myself properly.

I am frightened. At most my skills have been dulled to the senses of bullets and cars. In awe, I am the deer in the headlights, and the buck desensitized to danger. I have become a plaque on your wall, where I am worth more never living than barely alive.

Muse 116: Bathtime

2010-07-19T22:15:00.000-07:00

found via playgroundlover

Sitting in the shower, staring at the white tiles as water embedded me slowly, I leaned back, enjoying the contrast of the cold porcelain tub on my heated skin. The comfort of baths must be universal. I couldn't think of one person that wouldn't enjoy a long hot soak. No, not as I closed my eyes and gave my thoughts away to nothing. For the first time in a long while, not a single thought inspired me to wake up and write, not a single murmur or hum interrupted the calm. In the bath tub, nothing inspired, nothing sparked and the swishing of water was just the sound of my body shifting around. To most people it sounds dead and wish less, but when you've suffered and heard nothing but the rushing cars, beeping phones, click and clattering keys, non-stop talking, shouts and calls inside your mind for desperate inspiration... Nothing is the best medicine around.

Muse 115: Fasting

2010-07-15T18:12:00.000-07:00

Fasting is when people don't eat to regain their focus on what's important. I tried it once for 30 hours for the sake of starving children in Africa. It was a school event, sent home and notified on fliers. Our teachers locked us up in the gym, a room completely enclosed with bright lights and closed windows, so we couldn't know the time. It felt like a desert of empty buffet tables. We played games until our stomaches started to hurt. Some girl, tall and skinny, blamed it on laughing too hard, and so we forgot about eating again. There was a chase of boy and girl, and for a second we forgot about time and hunger. All I thought about was how I hoped Jake to chase me. Even if I was already seventeen years old these times were good excuses for wishes. When all this was done, someone meekly asked for the time. The teacher looked at his watch and grumbled, annoyed and hungry, "It's only been two hours." There was a community groan, but we were locked in and could do nothing about it. Our parents signed release forms for us to starve. So we played games, talked, gossiped and taped each other to the walls pretending they were enemy zombies. I don't remember praying once, but I remember hearing a teacher respond, "Yeah, I'm going to drop into bed once this is all over."

Muse 114: Karma

2010-07-13T23:39:00.000-07:00

Everything comes back. It's not hard to believe. Everything comes back in a full circle and you feel deja vu hit you like an earthquake. Spots like your heart, spots like your pulse, places and parts of a body that were never known to exist suddenly hurt. Either simultaneously, or in sections like orange slices, take it whole or take it to pieces. Where the feelings are the same but could be reversed, where the situation's the same, and somehow I'm still on the suffering end.

I can't complain. This is the only way I'll see you again.

Muse 113: Wonders

2010-07-11T21:48:00.000-07:00

found via jill willcot

There are seven wonders of the world. To the womanizers, they'll say you are the eighth. From your one and only, he'll have never heard of any wonders because all he's known to believe in is you. It's words and tricks like these that make girls wait and believe. You're his only wonder, the knowledge is all he needs to know. It's sentences strung together like this that make love seem vast and full of depth. After all, to find that one person who you belong to, and to whom you belong - hand in hand forever with no other - isn't it worth it? Isn't it? ...Isn't it? ...isn't...it...? To a boy who has a girl, who is his one wonder, she is like an echo that haunts him if she is never found.

Muse 112: Until they died.

2010-07-10T00:40:00.000-07:00

found via tumblrpost

The first set of scans said he was okay. He was lucky. His wife replied thank you before she brought him home, bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs for support. He was asked to come back in a two weeks for a second check-up; for another x-ray scan that would rack up the numbers on his credit card. So when his wife asked about the coming appointment, he told her he felt fine. He didn't have to go anywhere, not when it cost so much just to stay alive. He reassured her that he felt fine, even pressed onto his ribcage and held in the cough to delay the illusion, and smiled. Smiles work for everything as long as you hold them up long enough. He waited a few more seconds and refreshed his lips with a strain.

She believed him until he started coughing red.

Muse 111: Rippled Canvas

2010-07-09T01:49:00.000-07:00

art by KMR

She draws pictures as if they're underwater. With water stains and coffee marks, her canvases were wrinkled with dew and liquid drops that rippled the paper. Rain scattered everywhere it did not belong, in small doses that overcame the parched paintings, in uncontrollable patterns and smudges. The emotion was as if each painting had seen her crying, and the sight could have them think of nothing else but the tears that flowed forth. And so, the paintings, no matter how dry, and the drawings, no matter how rough, smoothed out into a blurred memory.

Muse 110: here comes Now

2010-07-01T20:42:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

Fear came in pairs of threes. She was always scared of the combination. Three words (I love you), three sentences (I'm sorry, There's something I need to tell you, and No.), three numbers (666) and then there was three letters (now). (Now) She heard that word last. It was so permanent and present, describing everything in the small time space that had just happened (now).

"You're different (now)," he said. "It's only been a year since I last saw you, but you've grown so much." Plenty of things can happen in a year, she thought sarcastically. It's 365 days, 365 chances to hear words unexpected, three hundred sixty five moments to hope for the worse like this moment between us (now). "Things feel different (now)."

Now if only she could take those words and throw it back in time. Now wouldn't matter so much as later. Not so much as back then. She scratched her head and smoked her cigarette as he looked onward with distaste. The science of words and time - figuring out how would fix everything (now).

Muse 109: Dying in Water

2010-06-28T22:48:00.000-07:00

found via amanda white

At this certain point she wasn't sure how things worked anymore. Everyone told her what to do and how to go about it. The methods, the timing and instructions that brought her down to the very last detail until she didn't understand where to start and if it would ever end. The big bang or a simple simmer --- she didn't understand why people had so much say; there wasn't much to rediscover when dying was just a result. The question was, she asked loudly, telling the room to quiet down, did it make a difference if you knew there was a rebirth?

Silence dawned, and no one dared to take the risk.

Muse 108: Whole Trick

2010-06-24T23:50:00.000-07:00

found via dearskye

I never understood what he meant until I stood in front of the pier, staring out to the empty platforms. Once, my mom said as we looked at the murky water, there were many sea lions. Too many to count. Now there were so few, perhaps two out of the fourteen platforms were filled and the rest remained empty. Were they dying out? I wanted to know. Were they afraid of returning? I was simply curious. The sight was pathetic, and it made me wonder why emptiness could be such an attraction. I held the camera to my face, gazed through the viewfinder and took the picture.

They filled the corners, leaving no space. It worked the same way. Crowds and audiences have been abused by the lens, pretending there have been more when in reality, you look deeper and there's nothing more. Beyond the borders is emptiness, and I'm afraid that sometimes people are just like these photographs.

Muse 107: Wash, Dry, Repeat

2010-06-23T14:07:00.000-07:00

found via iguessthatscool

(on the radio pt. 2)

He was rushing to do laundry. The bed sheets, the towels and everything that she used to wash for him. Dragging the cream canvas bag across the tiled floor, he claimed the remaining washers in the store and emptied his clothes. No sorting, no searching. As he grabbed his jeans, he felt something like paper in the pockets. He fished out a small envelope covered with her handwriting.

a). miss you already, hope you're doing laundry
b). you've been looking at this for a while, hope you like it
c). love you

Five quarters later, the cycle began. His black and white clothes, all mixed up exactly the way it shouldn't be, swirled until foam built up. He sat and watched his clothes go in a circle, and knew he would miss finding surprises in his pocket. The clothes were lucky. They had stains that could be erased. They could go on the same way on wash, dry and repeat when dirty.

Muse 106: On the Radio

2010-06-23T13:31:00.000-07:00

"I have a surprise for you," she whispered right into his ear.

"Yeah?"

He smiled and she liked how she could feel the air change for the sake of that smile. Before she could sit up, he wrapped his arm around her and held his hand out. Where is it? His eyes eagerly searched like an astonished child but all she did was laugh. She kissed him on the forehead, like a mother, and told him he would find it soon. Then she said she would miss him for the next few days while she was at her work conference. He promised her that he would miss her too; he would miss her the same way people looked for a song on the radio. No other song would do.

And those were the perfect goodbye words before her friend came over. In those moments, it didn't matter what songs played on the radio. She wasn't here to listen. Songs are metaphorically the best lies, the most beautiful lie a boy could tell.

Muse 105: the tales never win

2010-06-23T01:44:00.000-07:00

found via colour lover

I'm real, like I'm alive, like something no one else is able to do for me. You look at me strange, like I'm abnormal, like I need help or desperate measures of medication, and in comparisons of metaphors and similes, it could be ounces of truth. When you don't follow the rules, play ball in the house, vases break. Hearts shatter when fairy tales don't play in order. In real life, the step mother wins, the prince is ugly to the bone and nothing is real except for the pains and scars the hurt me. Don't keep it inside, and don't let the fairy tales win. You look at me strange because you're afraid of me; you're afraid of my scarred arms because I let them show while your insides have been all cut up.

on hold

2010-06-04T23:54:00.000-07:00

I'm going to put 365 on hold until June 22nd. I will still write in a paper diary, and transfer to here later, but there's been too much going on right now. Marriages, etc. And I will be going to a family vacation (no internet) on the 10th - 21st. I will endeavour to write everyday in the paper diary and give you two updates a day when I get back. Have a good summer, guys!

I deeply apologize. I haven't abandoned this.
I just haven't had time to be online.

Muse 104: Photographs

2010-06-01T12:07:00.000-07:00

found via unknown

Everyone is secretly a stalker, a mirror watcher that keeps their gaze in the corner of their eye. Everyone is afraid of what comes around unexpectedly. Mirrors and photographs are our eyes - we watch the world in our own perspective, with our own lens, but we forget the eyes that look back at us. Those are the ones that see us for who we are, the ones that notice our flaws as closely as a magnifying glass, making us scrutinize ourselves more than we should. So the flaws get larger and larger when they've started out as nothing at all, because we forget that mirrors and photographs are our perspectives and not all eyes have 20/20.

Muse 103: Influential

2010-05-30T12:59:00.000-07:00

found via tametheseas

I looked at the numbers one to ten on my little notepad. The first five were real things I had to do - Get good grades, spend more time with the family... but the other five were things I made up just to make my life look more exciting. The book told me to make a to-do list every morning. They said after crossing a number out, I would feel more accomplished than before, and slowly the mentality would affect my daily life where I would be this successful, organized business woman. My mother was the one who recommended this book to me. She got it off a list from the New York Times bestseller, which she started reading because of her socialite friend. And I sat, looking at my list, wondering how far back this stupid chain of authority went and realized it all ended with Oprah. Fucking hell. I scratched out my entire list and wrote at the top: Be influential.

Muse 102: Helen

2010-05-29T23:59:00.000-07:00

found via unknown

I wonder how Helen feels, not the one in our class, no, Helen of Troy. I want to think of her heart as gold, because only beautiful faces come from a pure heart. In the mirror, I don't see beauty or pleasure - but I've had riots and grudges held against me. I wonder how the face that drew a thousand armies, a thousand boats and battles between the gods did it. How does it feel to be the one cause of a war? How does it feel to be the one responsible for a thousand lives, generations of blood? How does it feel to watch from your tower? How does it feel to be rewritten as a selfish, spiteful woman? But most of all, I want to ask her. How does it feel to not be able to be with the one you love?

Muse 101: Warwick

2010-05-27T22:51:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

The hotel stood on the corner of the street, at the edge of downtown between the ghetto and the department stores like an ironic icon of society. Dan was driving carefully then, and we were trying our best to get out of downtown without making eye contact with ragged strangers. Every two seconds, I found myself checking the locks, freezing when I could make out private conversations of pedestrians. I kept looking outside and we escaped the stories of Hilton, Macys and oversized parking lots. That's when we passed by the Warwick Hotel. It had long windows, balconies with long iron bars for a fence, semi-transparent window curtains, iconic columns and a lamp post at its entrance. I traced the silhouette, wishing I were inside. It was a perfect place to get lost and write.

Muse 100: The Blame Game

2010-05-26T11:46:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

The night I died, I felt my eyes pushed to a close by a pair of warm hands and wanted to resist it. I didn't want the cold to take me, but death wasn't a choice. Then there was a sudden exhale and I knew I was no longer the same, like my body had breathed me out, birthed me out after all the pain I had endured. I came face to face with a light streaming through several doors, but the room itself was dark, only illuminated and hinted towards the outside world. I wandered towards the light, and found the doors locked. As I shook the handle, a voice echoed through the small room.

You cannot go outside.

I frowned. Who are you to tell me what do to? And I realized that this was God speaking, the same God that allowed evil, disasters, sickness, death and sorrow. I looked up, but he wasn't there. You would throw people out of your home because they won't chose you. I continued to search the ceiling, but he wasn't there, not even a voice box. If he was the light, then I could make do with the dark. Of course, he heard the voices in my head, and whispered in return. He did not have to whisper, his voice was strong and loud regardless.

I am only giving you what you have chosen all along.

A world without me, a world to stay as what you know, with me outside.

Muse 99: Stories We Tell

2010-05-25T23:59:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

I was eight when I heard my first ghost story. It was worse than riding a roller coaster, worse than sitting alone in the dark, wondering if my parents remembered where I was. My cousin sat across from me, in broad daylight, with a bowl of cereal in front of her, as she told me about the dumb little girl that didn't know what laid in the dark. As soon as the story ended, I began that little girl, wary of shadows, crying when the blackness crept towards me. I cuddled with my blankets and hid underneath its comfort until I forgot about the stories. But the stories were warnings. Soon I forgot all about the ghosts in the darkness and wanted to walk in, wanted to bring light where the shadows were. The stories were told too early, she should've told me later, because in those stories, the ghosts always win.

Muse 98: First Chairs

2010-05-24T23:03:00.000-07:00

found via brunopostigo

She was a violinist and he played the cello. By the order of the orchestra, musical hierarchy and general consensus, he sat behind her where his sound could support hers. She was first chair of the violins and he was the first chair of the cellos. They were musically a match made in heaven and he wondered if she noticed that too, but all he saw was the back of her head. Her black hair ran straight down like a waterfall, and his eyes dropped whenever her movements hinted at turning around. When he played, he didn't read the sheets because the notes hung delicately in the air. He knew the rhythm by watching her dance, and the song by hearing her hum. Her voice was like gold, and his voice went by unnoticed, just as it always had with the audience. While she played the alone, he played in the background, and when she packed up her violin to go, he watched, hiding low in the shadows, too afraid to ask for a solo.

Muse 97: You'll Save Me Right?

2010-05-23T23:53:00.000-07:00

found via luphia

While I sat, sick in the stomach, with tired eyes, I felt that flicker again. It was like a relapse in time, a shifting in the air and I swear the world in front of me cracked in two. My eyes were seeing things separately instead of as one. It was as if the foundation underneath me had fallen out, ready to suck me in because I didn't want to choose between worlds. There was one where he wasn't dead, but I didn't have her and the other was what I had now, but I didn't want to live with one and not have the other - and then I woke up, snapped to my senses, and everything merged as one again. People think I'm crazy when I tell them that a parallel universe exists. Then I ask them why God gave us two eyes, and there is no answer.

Muse 96: Like Always

2010-05-19T02:30:00.000-07:00

found via amanda mason

She carried jars of water from the places she had been. Places of water that mirrored her mind when she got there or at a moment when it seemed as if the waters and her mind coexisted as one. The water was like her brain-fluid, swishing about. Torrid waves and rushing hues of ocean blue. I remember each one, she said. Where they are from and what they are - I mean, what I was thinking about. She put the jars on her window sill. The colors are transparent and the tide is still.

Muse 95: Desperado

2010-05-18T22:52:00.000-07:00

source unknown

I'm down three hundred. In the long run of times I've been going out, that's considered a good day. Imagine a fantastic day - I'd be running in the positive numbers, but right now I'm just trying to break even. I count the papers in my hand, registering numbers instead of faces, and wish I had more to tuck underneath my mattress. Yeah, I'm one of those folks. I'd save it in the bank for interest, but I don't even have enough to open an account. These four bills are going towards my monthly payment just to have a roof over my head, and it's depressing. I tuck it under and don't look back. The money is green, but my world is black and white. It only gets darker every time another bill slips away. I should get a job. A proper one with a contract and health insurance, but it's just faster if I hit the jackpot. It's easier that way. And honestly, if it weren't for that queen of diamonds, I would've won.

Fuck it. I need another cigarette.

I'll be luckier next time.

Muse 94: Show Me Your Scars

2010-05-18T03:00:00.000-07:00

source unknown

It was at a M83 concert where we first met. I saw your arms and you saw mine for what they were because we knew that we were the same. For the first time, it wasn't the jarring words that were accusing or degrading but ones that expressed genuine interest as you smiled at raised your hands, showing me that just as well, you were in pain too. I looked around us and we all looked the same. Our arms had scars, lines of youth, where blood had run down. Once upon a time we hurt and then we healed. Improperly though.

People look at me sometimes, on the street at my arms that scream out for attention because that's all I wanted. And now I found you in a crowd of everyone that was alike, with scars, with baggage and so very much alike. We all wore wristbands, wore band tees and Converse shoes, but somehow I got your attention anyway. I showed you my scars and you laughed, showing me yours.

Muse 93: How Did We Trust That?

2010-05-17T01:30:00.000-07:00

found via beautyineverything

The light came in like it did every morning, through the windows, through the cracks, and through my fingers. My hand did nothing to shield my eyes from the sun, so I closed them and made my way out of bed by touch. The rough edges of the broken window frame used to give me splinters, but out of habit and practice, they don't hurt anymore. Nothing about this dilapidating house hurts anymore - I think I've grown immune, as all people do to the same allergies and pains, to whatever makes this place all torn up. It doesn't hurt anymore, but when I look how rusty the windowsill is, I wonder how I let myself trust him so easily. I put flowers and pictures to cover up the stains, but the light still shines on what I don't want to see.

Muse 92: Another World

2010-05-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

found via adelee

I've heard stories about fish people or mer-people - well, people that live beneath the water. They breathe underwater and suffocate on land; glide between rivers and stumble on sand. I heard that they loved each other wholly without judgment or presumptuous misconceptions; that they have luxurious flowing hair that never tangles, and when they swim the undulating waves ripple like ribbons behind them. Ever since I was a little girl, I was fascinated with the possibilities underneath that liquid mirror. I saw myself and wondered if it was really a mermaid looking back at me, a girl just as curious to know what it's like to live where you don't belong. When I'm by the lake, it's just by habit that I let my fingers run gently over the water, wanting to feel the embrace of the other person touching me... but I don't know if I'll still smile when a hand, even if it is the most beautiful hand that belongs to the most handsome of merman, comes out to welcome me into their world.

Muse 91: Designated

2010-05-09T21:45:00.000-07:00

found via unknown

As the years have gone by, I'm sitting in this car alone, wondering why it's taken so long for me to realize that you're the one who's been driving. You pick me up when I'm crying, when I'm weak, and you don't ask questions when I begged to be taken back. You look at me worried with a heavy heart, unsure of how to fix me. It used to be irritating, like the unknown hand that wouldn't let me drink. But like always, I wake up feeling more hollow and empty than ever. Just as I wake up to cold bed sheets and wonder who is left, you open the door and smile. All I do is cry thankfully that you have not changed.

Thank you, mom.

Muse 90: Position

2010-05-08T11:21:00.000-07:00

credit via lauryn holmquist

"I've discovered something new today," I said. We sit across from each other in a way that won't annoy single people by looking like clingy lovers. Our hands are barely touching, and it feels nice this way. A bit like we're a secret that keeps people guessing. You look up with a brightness in your eyes and go, "Yeah? What'd you learn?" And, of course I have it in my purse, I pull out a Cosmopolitan magazine and show you the article about sleeping positions. There are quite a few, but we quickly point out that I sleep in the foetus position and you sleep like a yearner. And I don't like the fact that I'm apparently sensitive on the inside and the tough exterior is just a mask, but you laugh it off and comfort me. "Think about it this way. I'm the stubborn yearner that doesn't change their mind, and I chose you." Then you take the magazine and rip out the page saying its ridiculous because we don't sleep alone and our position together works out just fine.

Muse 89: Effy

2010-05-06T08:28:00.000-07:00

she was this girl i enived, the one who i thought could show me exactly how great it is to be alone without needing anyone. and then reality set in, into me and into her, and i realized that deep down to the core, we were just souls made of the same stuff. we were scared of being alone. we were scared of finding someone who we loved and in the end, didn't want us at all. we wore the strongest masks because we have the weakest insides. you see that beautiful house over there on the block? the curtains are closed and the dust has settled. and inside, everything is gone because the people have moved out.

Muse 88: Home

2010-05-03T22:31:00.000-07:00

found via yuli.bow

Things weren't so difficult he decided. The country was foreign, but the scenery was breathtaking in that way. He loved how he could look out the window and hear the sounds of people passing. They were so alive, and full of soul. He didn't have to strain and stress over every syllable. The cars seemed to be a different shade than the ones from home - a duller, nostalgic color that was oddly admirable. The man inside that buggy could've been once a general, now enjoying the calm of the day. As he watched the world spin around him, he ate his cereal. Nothing moved too fast or too slow, and this was exactly how he wanted to live.

Muse 87: Paper Town

2010-05-01T10:01:00.000-07:00

found via melanielockwood

It's so hard to find you. They told me it's all worth it in the end, that when I see you at the end of the day, it's like finding you at the end of the aisle. That's what all my friends, who have someone to hold hands with, tell me. They comfort me, sincerely comfort me, under the impression that things will work out in the end.

I was walking in our town's history museum today, and I saw an old paper map that was drawn sometime during the 1870s. While I was reading the description, I discovered that the small coffee stain, normally used to mark secrets and codes, was actually a point to mark a paper town. Paper towns were places fictionally created to make sure no one plagiarized maps. I guess I realized then that love stories were like maps. Point A to Point B all lead me to you, and everyone gives me advice on how to get there, but you're my paper town just like I am yours and no one will ever get the route right except us.

Muse 86: Flight

2010-04-30T15:19:00.000-07:00

found via sadbats

I've been asked what it feels like to be in love. I asked them how they know, and they said, "It's the way you smile. The way you move when he's around, I can just tell. Your eyes light up." And I kind of understand what they mean. I feel like stars fill my body and there's no way I can fall. "Sometimes when you walk there's a skip." I think they call it walking on sunshine or floating on clouds. "And you've just been so happy lately, I hope he's good to you." And that's when my face fell. I wished they didn't say anything because... the truth is - He just made me feel this way by being there, and it would feel worse whenever he mentioned other girls.

Muse 85: Shelter

2010-04-29T20:24:00.000-07:00

found via jessgn

I loved his shoulder. Every time we sat next to each other, his shoulder was always in the corner of my eye like a boulder, a shadowy block that obstructed the sunset. I felt a crick grow in my neck and a strain that made my shoulders sore. And his shoulders looked so sturdy, so calm against the moving skies; I wanted to lean into it, rest my tired head while we sat still. I was a broken metronome failing to move to the beat, stuck on one end, but it was the good end. He moved into closer and I didn't have to struggle at all. Like a scoop to a spoon, a cheek in a palm, I closed my eyes and rested exactly where I wanted to be.

Muse 84: Vienna

2010-04-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

found via Lissy Elle

"I'm trying to find that balance," she said quietly as she picked at the hem of her dress. Her frown looked heavy enough to make the world crumple, and there was a pain in her neck. She sighed, looking up at him with bright eyes. "You know that balance between hello and goodbye? That place where I wake up and I don't feel like everything is over or just begun - I just wake up and ... " The words were tying her up in strange knots that she couldn't describe, couldn't fix and now they were messing the relationship. She was lost and couldn't tell him how much he meant to her, and he knew what she was trying to say. He grabbed her cool, wandering hands and held them tightly.

"I am your balance."

Muse 83: Heels

2010-04-27T11:49:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

This was her secret past time; he was her secret way to past time. He kept the key underneath the carpet, but she never touched it until he went away. Each day she stroked the ridged ends, wondering if she should take the risk, and when she did, the interior shocked her. The beautifully adorned room had the loveliest wallpaper pattern. One could spin and become dazed, lost in the maze as it lead her straight down to the bedroom. Curiousity wrecked her mind as she danced around the edges, afraid to see what was inside. Today was the day, the time, the day to discover what was inside. The dark was encroaching upon her, from behind and in front, and she looked in, gasping. She fled quickly, forgetting to lock the doors, to wipe away her mark, as she ran back into her house. Leaning against the safety of her door, she couldn't help but feel a little jealous of the bonded woman who had no feet to run.

Muse 82: Birds

2010-04-26T17:58:00.000-07:00

found via brightdawns

I hated her, I hated how she seemed to act as if she represented mankind, humanity, as if her thoughts were running along some frequency that everyone - but me - was logged onto. It's freedom we deserve, she always said, we shouldn't be oppressed with this government bullshit. Sometimes I would tell her to just be grateful, be aware of how much freedom we actually got in America, but she snapped at me, quoting from the terrible book about being some sort of flower. "We have what we have," she snapped, "and so what's the point in comparing it to others?" She always made more sense than I wanted to credit her for, so I let the argument slide. And I told her that I didn't want to talk about it anymore, so she dropped the topic and turned on her television and we flipped through all 500 channels.

Muse 81: Angels

2010-04-25T16:22:00.000-07:00

found via mrgolightly

We thought the angels would save us. Could save us. We misinterpreted their wings for mechanics of flight, when the truth has always been heaven is earth. They were swooping up to bring us to hell. We always believed that we could go higher, build of tower of Babel and find God sitting in the heavens, but we forgot that the tower was never completed, and God doesn't walk among men. We forget that the angels wield swords and protect Eden from wanderers. We forget many things as the world grows silent, and we rule with our desires prioritized first. We live among men, pretending to be gods, and we forget that after our lives, our children's will follow. We keeping moving, keep climbing up stairs that rotate downwards, and think that when we fall, angels will come save us.

At most, they weep.

Muse 80: The Ring

2010-04-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

found via lauryn holmquist

He asked for sex after he finally put his Blackberry away. Recently the days feel longer while our relationship feels shorter, but somehow there's always time for sex. When our bare skin is touching, the moment is silent, and it seems like this deep rooted intimacy is the only time we can come together without any distractions. For once he chooses to ignore the vibrations from his phone and the way it rings incessantly. It bothers me though. I can't think about him with the constant buzzing. Even when I wrap my legs around him, I can't stop wondering who is calling. How important is the call? He moves faster, and I wonder if it's because of his urgency to climax or answer the phone.

Muse 79: Mask

2010-04-22T23:15:00.000-07:00

found via bloodmilk

There were a lot of emotions meant to be explained. A lot of feelings and questions that were supposed to be made clear once there was a solution that threaded everything together like a patchwork quilt. Contrasting fibers, mismatched patterns and colors blended into one perfect mess that was warm, cozy and tucked me in so well at night. At least, that's what he used to feel like to me. I used to feel safe and comforted, swaddled in blankets, but now I find myself panicking every second of it all. I looked at myself in the mirror, and noticed that I hadn't seen myself clearly in a long time. There isn't much of me left. I don't feel safe around him anymore.

Muse 78: Simple

2010-04-21T12:32:00.000-07:00

found via Tyler Landes

There was still something different about her. Nothing about her face, her voice or the way she dressed begged for attention, but there was still something that drew him to her. He didn't understand it until he stood outside in his backyard. The trash cans piled up around him, waiting to be moved as someone else's problem. He craned his neck upwards and looked at the sky where a million stars were waiting for him. The answer dawned on him as he felt calm for the first time in his hectic life schedule. The stars, yellow on blue, were simple as black and white.

Muse 77: Air City

2010-04-18T18:12:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

It was only mid-October. The skies were clear, no hint of dusty grey or murky yellow, and not a single cloud in sight. We stared at the sky while we rested on our backs, loving the way the sun didn't blind our eyes. You were beside me, so close and barely touching, and my neck craned to be close to your shoulder. I swear my neck was cramping up from wanting to rest against you. I wonder what you'll say if I decide to close my eyes and keep you close. You're always near, but never close enough, but then again, you're just enough. I don't need a sunrise or a sunset when I'm with you; just a sky and our hands barely as we point simultaneously at whatever passes. We're barely touching, the intensity caught in my chest - we're barely touching - and there's enough air between our hands to make build a city.

Muse 76: Dusk/Dawn

2010-04-14T23:55:00.000-07:00

found via baanbrekend

At that moment, all you could hear were the crickets. I felt the wetness of the cold stone wall start to seep slowly through my pants. The chirping was an orchestra of ticking clocks, as it died down, the sun began to rise. In the distance, the sky was slowly turning into a watercolor wash of orange, purple and blue. I forgot if the sun rose from the east or west, but I marveled at how the light is in the skies. The light always wins, and darkness loses like a wimp, letting go of its reign so freely. Then again, winning isn't forever and during the deep PM, the skies turn black. Sometimes though, I forget which time belongs to which and when I look up, I realize that it's dusk and the sun is setting. The light was dimming.

Muse 75: Conquer

2010-04-13T17:44:00.000-07:00

found via sandy

The secret that no one ever revealed to him was the same secret that no one truly knew. He understood that his two scrawny arms, and even his body, probably one that rivaled Tom Sawyer's, could not hold up the world. As he stood on the hill that overlooked the Hollywood Bowl and the other million scattered lights, like stars, across the city, he wondered sadly why stories of Atlas existed, and more importantly, why nobody listened to them. He was pretty sure, even more sure, that the world was so heavy that only anti-gravity could hold it down, that nobody was meant to bear the world on their shoulders. The truth was, he realized, as he titled forward on his toes, feeling the cool summer breeze brush up against his neck, the secret behind it all was not how to rule the world. It was always light the city.

Muse 74: Got Milk?

2010-04-11T22:31:00.000-07:00

found via jawshbates

Milk isn't necessary, you know. It's liquid cream that contributes to nothing but fat and bones. I don't know why my parents made me drink it when I was young; they had me drinking organic whole milk so fatten me up like a cow, but as I grew older milk felt thick and filmy in my throat. So I switched to two percent and noticed that it ran much more smoothly, it was easier and less complicated. When I got to middle school, I noticed that the girls around me were drinking 1%. At first I hated it, it tasted like water and I thought I might as well buy 2% and mix it myself, but I grew used to the change in high school and stuck to it. The thought of going back to 2%, or dare me - whole milk - was too much for my throat to handle, so I stayed with 1% until someone introduced skim milk. This was the type that wouldn't put weight on me at all, and I loved it because everything was easier. Then college came and I realized that I didn't need milk at all - they offered soy in the dining halls. Within a month, I kissed goodbye to skim... 1%... 2% ... my virginity, and the thought of ever being whole again.

Muse 73: Lean on Me

2010-04-09T21:24:00.000-07:00

found via lauryn holmquist

I was worried the first time she asked me to bring her out. "I'm ready, James," she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. I hated when she did that. That starry, misty eyed gaze, coupled with her soft lips drove me insane and I couldn't say no. So I said yes and we drove to the beach that she loved so much. She wore her white sundress that looked more like a slip than something presentable. I pushed her around in her wheelchair, and she looked as heavenly as an angel. Then the wheels started to slow down and it became harder to push through the wet sand.

Amy sighed. "Help me, James. I want to try."

A part of me didn't want her to try at all. I thought if she got up, it would be like the blind seeing again. There was a world out there, a world so tantalizing that she would run free from her cage, like a bird and never return. She wobbled slowly like an calf steadying itself for the first time. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the armrest tightly, and waited. "James?"

"Hm?"

"Help me."

She took my hands and guided them to her waist. "I can't walk without you," she said softly, not daring to take a step and letting her entire weight rest in my weak arms.

Muse 72: Path

2010-04-08T23:46:00.000-07:00

credit joann lee

He entered gently, breaking the shadows into planes. There wasn't much in the room to begin with. A dying chair, a broken piano and the tiles on the floor which were from the 1980s. The landlord seemed to be proud of that fact, vintage, couture artifacts, he had declared, as if those words could make this dingy place any better. Living here was the equivalent of living in a storage room, all he had to do was sit and become one with the furniture. But this was all he could afford. This was all he understood when he remembered that just across the block lived the girl of his dreams. Seeing her was like opening a door into a dark room with nothing but a piano and a broken chair. Then again, to him, the light was a pathway and the shadows stayed out.

Muse 71: On the Line

2010-04-07T14:59:00.000-07:00

found via ahmebertiee

"You'll get electrocuted," he cried out as Amelie climbed the ropes. Her limbs, trained by the awkward career of pole dancing, were nimble as she maneuvered smoothly with no regard to the danger. As she shook the ropes, the birds flew away. They flew straight towards the sky as Amelie twisted her body among the wires. Somehow she fit right on top, the wires supported her weight, and she sat like a queen over a nest. His worries faded as he stood below her in awe. She could fall so easily but she never did.

Muse 70: Immunity

2010-04-06T20:35:00.000-07:00

found via pixie

No, I do believe you when you say you're toxic. How hard can it be when you look at me like that, ready to submerge yourself into a sea of opportunities. A part of me wants to let you fall deep into that abyss, a place you can't crawl out of, so that I can give others a concrete example of what not to be. You're wearing your garter and lingerie socks that will drive any guy wild. The eye makeup and lipstick is more than an invitation for a one night stand. They'll keep you up until morning, and you won't be walking shamefully as you leave. I watch you pull over that dress. You're toxic alright, you're going to destroy them and leave them heartbroken, but I saw you look in the mirror this morning too. You're not that immune.

Muse 69: In the Dark

2010-04-03T10:58:00.000-07:00

found via Cuauhtémoc Suarez

He could barely make out the edges that framed her silhouette. If it weren't for the glowing light behind her, illuminating the shape of her, he wouldn't have seen her at all. As he approached her carefully, the steps of a hunter searching for his prey, he watched the smile grow on her face. She had been waiting, god knows how long, waiting specifically for him. And suddenly it didn't matter to her, or him, how long they had been waiting, or of the arguments that were weaved into all the shadows. All that mattered was the light behind her, and the light separated her from the dark. He loved how she softly began visible to his sight with each closing step.

Muse 68: Pretty for You

2010-04-01T22:08:00.000-07:00

found via volatilestructure

Baby you were so beautiful, he said as he held her limp wrists. His fingers could wrap themselves around those bones a thousand times over, like the sorry that wouldn't change a thing. The only spark in her eyes were the ones that burned for him, and they were far from dying. Her pupils glowed brightly with a mischievous quirk that made him love her all the more. Love filled his chest like an oxygen mask, and he reached forward to swipe her ratted blonde hair from her face. The strands felt like hay to his touch, yet she was still beautiful, and those strands could be spun into gold if she tried. He pushed her hair back and his fingers brushed eerily against hard bone. Her body had begun to eat itself out. There was no more of his love to consume.

Muse 67: Age of Innocence

2010-03-31T22:45:00.000-07:00

source unknown

Her bones felt achingly sore. Not that the comparison should make sense when she was merely fourteen years old. Fourteen felt like such an incredible age... of confusion. Her parents were already asking her what she wanted to do with her life, and the teachers, who didn't care, weren't making the decisions any easier. She was only fourteen, and her body shouldn't feel this way. Old and aching, as if she were ninety years old trapped in a youthful body. Every decision she wanted to make was challenged by a lingering fear that anything could change. As she squirmed in bed, wishing her ligaments didn't ache so much, she suddenly felt a wetness between her legs. Were her bones breaking apart? Her fingertips awkwardly touched where it hurt and came back up with blood.

Muse 66: Animal

2010-03-30T21:34:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

Someone once asked me, "If you could be any animal, what would you be?" And I thought about it carefully. I thought about how nice it would be to run wild free among the grass, let the green blades brush against my skin. Then again, it probably wouldn't feel the same against a coat of fur, maybe I wouldn't feel it at all. So I imagined myself soaring in the wind, living in the heights of the trees. I could touch the sky and kiss the sun without the fear of Icarus. Of every animal I could change into, I imagined myself small so that I could hide away from all the predators and anything that could hurt me. I would run fast, fly faster and hide all the better. And then suddenly, when I looked at the five fingers that could have just as easily been claws, I felt disappointed. What a dumb ass question, I realized. You could tell me of any animal that I wished to be, but I have always been the same. I'm still an animal.

Muse 65: Perfect

2010-03-29T20:48:00.000-07:00

found via ssense

I think, he said, you're perfect regardless. Well, that's what I heard him say in my mind but in actuality, I'm sure the spoken words never come close to my imagination. In the recess of my mind, everything he said was perfect because everything he did matched the prince charming I imagined to be. It was so hard to keep reality separate from fiction, so hard when all I wanted was everything to be perfect. Perfection has never been so disappointing; it was like when I discovered my blood wasn't blue, but red. I expected a wild blue sea to consume me when it all flowed out of those blue veins, but instead, I drowned in reality.

Muse 64: Black/White

2010-03-27T23:37:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

In a world of shades of grey, he was strange. Everyone watched carefully whenever he came around. It was as if all the clocks stopped moving, as if there was an electrical charge that announced his presence. His pale, albino skin reflected the sunlight. Sometimes it hurt to look at him because he shone like snow; his brightness could only be eclipsed through the squint of an eye. He was so strange. He had jet black hair that did not lighten in the sun. His hair was so black that it felt like a large hole had grown over his head, ready to suck in everyone that dared to come near. But everyone kept their basic space from am to pm. It was a small circle like a shark net which keep him at bay. Je wasn't welcomed into their comfort zone. Yet nobody knew his name. They only knew he was strange.

And then there was one day the entire town fell into a blackout. Electricity shut down, the alarms and security cameras all lacked the power to do their job. In the growing darkness, large shadows took advantage, raping every insecure building until there was nothing left. I watched from my window, the safety of my home allowed me to be a spectator in this mess.

I watched as a little boy who was too young to be alone, scream with the strength of a slaughter lamb. Glass shards flew everywhere, piercing into his cheek as his tears became blood. “Mama! Mama!” His voice was a repetitive chime like the ringing wind bells, breaking my heart. I wrung my hands against the balcony edge as he stood, immobile, and ultimate chaos swirled around him like a hurricane.

Suddenly, the stranger came out of nowhere. Like a flash of lighting, as bright as white beacon, he scooped up the child and ran until he found a place untouched by danger. A snap of the shotgun tore through the air, and the pale man wrapped his arms around the boy. “Mama!” His white arms were now red, dripping maroon, as people rushed past, their arms full of knives, guns, and anything they could carry. All I could do was watch, and remember, as the man shielded the boy from pain. His dark hair and pale white were the black and white amongst the unsteady grey.

Muse 63: Retreat

2010-03-24T19:28:00.000-07:00

found via wetbehindtheears

He stated those words gently as if he were breaking news about her husband's death. Even though she knew he was speaking the truth, she had to check her finger to make sure no ring was visible. She rubbed the spot as if there should've been a ring because he spoke as if there was a husband standing in between them. The fact was that there was no husband, and he was trying to talk as if he was offering, but his crass tone made her feel defensive, hunched back, and once more she retreated to a place where he couldn't reach her.

Muse 62: Get Away

2010-03-23T22:56:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

Did you forget? We had a time where symbols weren't a concern. I was six when I had a birthday party with life-size beavers and Cinderella. My smiles were priceless and my laughter could not be scanned through the store's bar codes. I don't think I thought about $ then. I can't remember the exact date when home actually coming back and not retreating directly to my room. @ defines my address now, and you can find my faster that way. Perhaps you can call my #, but I rather have a TXT because my ears aren't too good. I don't hear unless I want to. I live in my technological treehouse made of bits and bytes, forgetting that once upon a time I had dreams for my hands to achieve.

Muse 61: Sand Castles

2010-03-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

We used to make castles out of sand. It was harder than it looked, harder than I imagined, but the attempts were always worth it when we took a group photo at the end. Those are one of the few photographs I physically own. I always liked the way film looks, the grainy feel. When we stopped going to the beach, I stopped making castles. Our photos are just stored on the computer. Sometimes I forget they are even there and I don't look back because it's not the same. I can't touch these pictures, but I guess all the same, the grainless photographs will still fall apart with the waves of time.

Muse 61: Stars

2010-03-21T21:46:00.000-07:00

found via samantha nina

She needed someone to tell her the truth straight. She needed words to come exactly as so: "Honey, you're so naive and insecure, can't you see his promises are lies?" And if her friend is wise, there will be a comparison using the moon. A lovely globe in the tiers of the sky, a disco ball that causes drunken lovers in their stupor to chase wishful thoughts, that he will not retrieve even with a million promises. "...but the thought of the moon in my hands is so lovely," she whispered. And her friend needs to be a good friend, and not swoon under romantic ideas. Her friend needs to say, "Take the stars and make your own necklace."

Muse 60: Cheshire

2010-03-20T21:20:00.000-07:00

alice in wonderland (2010)

"Why do you love the Cheshire Cat?" he asked curiously, twisting a strand of my hair in his finger. "Why do you love something so undependable and plain creepy?" I suppose I could explain to him how typical it was to love the White Rabbit, to love the Red Queen and her iconic statements, but it would blow my cover as the independent, fearless girl. How could I tell him that the Cheshire Cat reminded me of the way I wanted to kiss? Not some innocent peck or passionate pursuit, but a sun ray of smiles that will have me falling into his kiss. I'll disappear after that if I have to. A kiss should be that powerful.

Muse 59: Birds

2010-03-19T17:25:00.000-07:00

found via tumblr

It's always when the quiet is the loudest that I get scared the most. The fear approaches me like birds. Birds - I always hear the birds before I see them. Their wings flap like sheets of paper whipping against each other, and the noise grows louder, freakishly louder, until I'm pretty convinced that the birds are here to eat me. They're vultures in my mind. They're chasing me in vicious circles - cycles - until I drop down dead. "I don't want to go," my voice is mildly pathetic and I fold my hands over my face. I'm scared of the birds. I hear them before I can see them. They warn me I'm already dead.

Muse 58: Easy

2010-03-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

found via sea of love

It was hardest in the beginning. The pain and longing hurt her chest much more than she imagined. For a girl that was accustomed to being alone for her entire life, for a girl who declared for an independence separate from men, a strength to prove that she could move mountains, this was a sign of pure weakness. It was especially worse the first time, like a druggie just getting used to living without drugs, she couldn't imagine her days without him. But then it got easier. She began to notice that his presence faded as the days passed, and she missed him less and less. It was easy. Like death.

Muse 57: Shutter

2010-03-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

found via weheartit

I hold this camera wherever I go to make sure that I catch our story from beginning until the end. She asks me, constantly pestering me with her hands and words, to put the camera away because she's "shy." Camera shy, because - as she says - she's not photogenic.

"Does this mean you think you're more beautiful in reality?" I finally ask as we sit face to face on a sunny day. The light is perfect, and every click of the shutter forms a halo around her face. Her features are barely visible with the overexposed backlight, yet she still claims, "No, I don't think that, but just - Stop it, I look really ugly!" And I stop, my finger starving to press the shutter, but I think my eyes are just afraid of missing out each second she might change. She holds out her hand, all I see is her thin wrist, and says, "Can I have the camera?"

I don't complain when she holds the camera, fumbling clumsily to take a picture. It doesn't matter because when she looks through the viewfinder and sees my face, it says all the words she needs to know.

Muse 56: Wings

2010-03-16T18:43:00.000-07:00

found via Hudsalva

As the sun slipped through the curtains, I raised my arms above my head. The strain on my muscles felt like a gentle pull, stretching out my arms into a giant pair of wings. Granted, it doesn't take much to fly when you have all the right feathers growing straight from the pores. I like to think of my fingers reaching for the sky as the outstretched wingspan that will bring me to the clouds. I don't know, I think I just like stretching in the morning.

Muse 55: Zoo

2010-03-15T17:33:00.000-07:00

found via m-meow

I felt like an accessory to a collection; not so much a mark on the bedpost or a tally in a long succession of winnings, but something beautiful that would enhance the physical appeal. Moving in the world has never been any different from attending a zoo, a park full of wild animals that don't belong there. This world is a gilded cage. Your world is no different from the rest. The safe gates ease souls into believing that the easy life is behind doors. Silver spoons, forks and knives feed your trapped lips and you have no worry.

Muse 54: Safety Blanket

2010-03-13T11:01:00.000-08:00

source unknown

Last night you weren't here, and the darkness shadows was ready to haunt me. They was behind the door, hidden within the shadows. They are formless beings that are waiting for me to be alone. What I fear is not hidden underneath my bed, it is lying inside of me, ready to crawl out as soon as I fall asleep. Oh god, I'm so afraid and you're not here with me. I miss you so desperately because you're my safety blanket. You keep the nightmares and the monsters out.

Muse 53: Ill

2010-03-10T21:26:00.000-08:00

found via we heart it

"You need a bath," she said, noting the dry scales on his hands. "We can take one after this show finishes. I know how much you like Jeopardy." He gazed at the unblinking screen as if the blue fluorescent glow had mesmerized him, but there was too much sunlight for that to be possible. Nevertheless, she continued to work around him with her scrubs' strings hanging loosely by her side. She took a wet cloth and started working at his feet, wiping at the dust that had collected into a fine layer. Dust does fall and stick over whatever cannot move.

Muse 52: Silvia

2010-03-08T18:37:00.000-08:00

found via laura failyau

You are Silvia Thompson, girl drowning on account of her own inhibitions. Every time I say your name there is an urgency buried underneath my voice. If I crack, it's because I'm scared your ears will have dried up by the time I've physically reached you. So I always scream your name; I always cry it out loud with an aching need for you to turn around. Underneath this skin, I tear my masculinity to shreds. Souls are made of a certain cloth, and I fear that I am made more of yours. And I am watching you unravel yourself, lost, to take more of me - Silvia, hear me speak before you have all of me... before I can speak no more.

Muse 51: Burden

2010-03-07T21:04:00.001-08:00

source unknown

I am sad that the pain can only be saved through pain. Is happiness such an insufficient eraser that the only way to make a mistake go away is to mark it darker until the problem explodes into oblivion? I suppose that's the way the world has always gone about to get what it wants. We started small: sin with an apple, then grew on to wage wars, create atomic bombs and the destruction of races, all by a simple knock of dominoes though to be human intelligence. All endings have come about in the same manner. With more pain. Humans labour their revenge until death; generations pay deep beyond their lifetime. Although I could turn my other cheek, my words can cut you and I will say them until you bleed. My pain becomes yours until we bury each other.

Muse 50: Protection

2010-03-06T20:10:00.000-08:00

found via we heart it

A part of me wanted you - closely, tightly, and ever so slightly warm. A chill ran down my arms as I felt the February wind blow across the earth, and I didn't need a second to spare. I wished for the spring to come earlier so a warmer breeze would brush down the hairs on my arms... for the skies to keep the sun's rays out a little longer... for the hour that would come to skip, not to skip at all... but most of all, through the ellipses and thoughts, I found myself wishing - not for spring - for you. So you could block the winter wind, become my summer sky and make time standstill.

Muse 49: Daze

2010-03-05T07:26:00.001-08:00

found via dennis schoenberg

He was crazy about planning - he didn't plan at all. Although I had the car and the steady cash, the promised future and a good luck past, he was the one who called in moments like four am and told me to pick him up on the corner of Dante's Pub. He was always the one barely clothed, yet if clothed at all, he wore the bare minimum. Greeting with a smile and a short thanks, he slid into the passenger seat and said, "Drive anywhere, just not home. I don't care where you go." Of course I took the road towards home, and so he snapped out directions that I begrudgingly followed until we ended up on a road with nothing but tree and trees for miles and miles. Somehow he got me to stop, I thought he had to pee, but he started walking into the forest. It was five am. So I parked my car and followed him, and he kept walking, and I followed in fear that he would disappear in the labyrinth and never return to me. He kept walking until it was six am, where the sun broke through the trees casting shadows and shades around us. Suddenly he stopped, with a crinkled frown, sobered but hung over, and asked, "I don't know where I'm going?" I smiled and caught up while he stood in stupor. I kissed his cheek and whispered that if anything, I knew how to get back.

Muse 48: Hypocrite

2010-03-04T15:56:00.000-08:00

unknown

You are so small, he said. Where will you go and how will you get there with those feet? Someone can come and take you away, carry your small frame like the wind carries the leaves. All she could do was smile in reply, in agreement, as he rambled on about her size and frail form that would snap under any pressure. They walked, and he said, You need to be careful, you're so tiny that anyone could hurt you. He said this adamantly, and she merely smiled knowingly. They came to a fork in the road where he gave her a hug, Well here is where I say goodbye, and they parted, and she returned alone.

Muse 47: Threadhold

2010-03-02T19:18:00.000-08:00

found via samantha lamb

She overcomplicated opinions into facts, into truths that only belonged to her. Like a spool of thread, she wound her words repeatedly over and over for safekeeping, as if they could bring her back to the beginning. Her opinions were her own color. When she took them out to sew a quilt, the threads did not hold, and her safety blanket fell apart.

Muse 46: Cut the Swan

2010-02-28T12:57:00.000-08:00

Skins Unseen, Effy

She thought her heart to be precious like a domesticated animal that has been yours for years, but you're too afraid to let it go, let it slide past your fingertips into serenity, because your emotional needs, pitied and sought for, conquers vast nations with atomic dust endings. And even when her parents, friends and others told her she had to let go - to take this self hatred, that had enough strength to tear apart mountains into valleys, turn glaciers into melting ice caps that consumed green lands - she didn't think she could bear to cut the swan. If the swan died, opened up with a willing secret, then perhaps nothing would be beautiful again.

Muse 45: Legs

2010-02-27T16:00:00.000-08:00

found via milobelgrove

"The more banged up the better," he declared as we stood in front of H&M, looking at the pale, milky white legs of the thin plastic models.

They were faceless beings with perfect bodies that compelled any passing girl to transform themselves into the same form. The latest Vogue declared that women should have gangly limbs and pointy faces, the poise of an arrow, to show their determination in effort to further the feminist era. Show them boys what they can't have, the text declared, be the tease, the flirt and the flawless canvas that can't be marked up - I looked at my legs, they were covered in nylon stockings to look blemish free. "I like the scrapes, the bruises, the discolored spots..." he grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the mannequin mirage. I found my thighs rubbing together as my boyfriend continued on about masked perfection. I wonder if he'll say the same words if I take off my stockings and reveal my cuts no one has ever seen.

"...The more the better! It means that she's unafraid to fall. You can't be caught if you refuse to fall."

Muse 44: Fireflies

2010-02-25T21:46:00.001-08:00

found via we heart it

She took a deep breath and got ready to exhale, to spread a million seeds to grant one wish. In a second - a moment composed of a thousand emotions, which have multitudes of histories that take up hours within a lifetime - she remembered more than she needed. What she remembered wasn't the past or the present but the forever continuing wisdom of truth. She looked at the dandelion in her hand, the deceivingly sweet seeds, and wondered if it was right for her to spread a weed. It only took a second for her to reevaluate reality; her wishes were just weeds under the guise of myths. Then in the next second - a change of mind that felt like a thought composed through years of wisdom and tribulation - she realized that in her fingertips wasn't a dangerous flame that would consume the valley but a jar of fireflies waiting to be released.

Muse 43: Joy

2010-02-24T21:10:00.000-08:00

found via made you look

you bring me joy. incredible amounts of joy like sacks of gifts that are carried by wise men who travel far and wide in search for a single person, you bring me joy. i've seen daisies and dandelions swell in winter bloom, but the sight of birth has never been as beautiful as you. and sometimes, sometimes when you sit alone, i don't want to come and say hello. hello might break that moment where i could imagine a thousand more with you. i imagine you turning around with a smile, holding my hand, and we sleep together underneath the painted stars. i dream, and you bring me joy. only then, the physical overrides the mental, i can't live in thoughts, and so i say it anyway. i say hello, and these fantasies say goodbye.