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.

Muse 91: Designated

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 87: Paper Town

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

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 69: In the Dark

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 50: Protection

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 11: Hot Like Fire

While the moments were dutifully reminisced through hours of replay in the dark cavern of her mind, she suddenly remembered that someone once said, "Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everybody I've ever known." And somehow that was how she understood that love is nothing but a composite of feelings. Nothing of love is original. It is agony. It is joy. It has purity; it enforces evil. It multiplies while decreases. It is hot and cold. Easy and difficult. It is when you fly through the sky on wings made of wax, trying to reach the sun because it burns so beautifully. She whispered right before she fell asleep, "Love is sweet, sweet masochism. " No one has ever survived flight except those who don't return.

Muse 7: Paper Heart

flickr medical museum

She wanted to cut out his heart, and he was going to let her do it. She wanted to have a piece of him for herself, and he didn't mind that she was going to take it. And she started, she started cutting along the dotted lines that she envisioned on his flawless body, until she realized that the shape she was cutting was all wrong. So she stopped halfway, letting the blood run out in perfect streams of tears as he begged her, wondering what was wrong, to continue, to take his love. With a blank look, she blinked cruelly and said, "I thought I wanted it, but not anymore."

Muse 6: Eros

sam webber

You remind me of a sculpture, the cool marble skin is smooth and flawless, making my eyes travel for miles and miles because once I begin, I cannot end. When I swallow, I feel as if I am inhaling you in; your presence slipping down my throat like liquid platinum, so pure, so raw. I am sure, so sure - Your heart is made of gold, but why, oh-why, won't you let anyone love you?

Muse 5: Lovedry

via no but and or yes

I was sitting behind the bed, where the light from the window couldn't find me. The phone, whose wire tangled in between my toes and fingers, rested coldly against my cheek as I listened to him speak. Come over, he would say repeatedly like a vinyl that only had one loop, and I want to see you, he said again and again like the light on the other side of my bed. It was an 'I want to see you, but I won't try to cross to the other side' kind of tone, perhaps the laziest kind of all. And so I told him no, "I can't come over. I have a lot of things to do." Yeah? "Yeah," I told myself as I twirled a strange of unwashed hair, unwashed because there were memories and scents that I was too afraid to lose, "yeah. I have lots of things to care for. I have to feed my cat...and my Facebook fish or he'll die today. Then I need to call my mom and see if she's doing alright without me so far. Later I think I have to hit Cosco for food that will last me another number of months, and there's laundry because the dryer stopped working again and my pants are just wetting my bed..." And then the list becomes a bucket list because the last thing I want to care about is falling in love with you.

Muse 3: Ribcage Song

credit: http://ghostpatrol.net/

We sat beneath the wych elm tree, and you were singing, "Oh skeletal bones, oh skeletal bones where will you be when I've gone home." I looked at you curiously, wondering where that song had played on the radio. Were you trying to sing a song about us? And you looked at me with that child-like song vibrating in the air as you kept on singing, "Can I hold your hand, can I call you home - you're, you're that cage that protects when I'm alone." Your voice might have been ratty and gritty like old bones in dry sand, but you still sounded so lovely to me.

Muse 1: Broken Keys

(via loveyourchaos)

They droningly plunked with a tune like broken teeth, like broken teeth. I don’t think I ever noticed that they were out of tune, out of tune; I just noticed they were brown and crooked - kind of like yours after you started smoking, cussing. Truthfully, touching this piano may be the closest I will ever get to your drugged, dead lips.