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too often in life…

The real damage is done by those millions who want to ‘survive.’ The honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don’t want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes.

Those who won’t take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don’t like to make waves-or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honour, truth, and principles are only literature.

Those who live small, mate small, die small. It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control. If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what?

Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.

— Sophie Scholl —

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this is how you lose her…

This is how you lose her.

You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery store, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.

You must remember when she forgets.

You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.

She remembers when you forget.

You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.

You must learn her.

You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.

You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her.

— Junot Díaz —

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the sight of the stars…

You appeared before me in my dreams;
as yet unseen, you were already dear.
Your wondrous gaze filled me with longing,
your voice resounded in my heart,
long ago… no, it wasn’t a dream!

As soon as you arrived, I recognized you.

Have you not spoken to me in silence?
Have you not stooped gently at my bedside,
and whispered words of joy and love,
and whispered the words, “who are you?”

My fate, I entrust to you.
I can wait, I can wait…
You are my terrible angel,
my beautiful tempter…

What dark can come, when love is so light?

O, night is past,
everything is awake,
and the sun is rising…

lllllllllll— Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky —

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drink in the view…

Dear Gentle Sir,

My hands love your beautiful, moaning, jaw-clenching hard almost as much as my mouth does which is a very close to how deeply my pussy does.

When I spread, lift, arch, and fold myself for you it is so you can see my wet, smell my desire, and taste my need for you.

I reach for you with limbs splayed, with every whispered moan and guttural sigh, my curves twist to fit into your mouth, your hands, over and around your gorgeous, thick cock. It is not enough to see every inch of you, I want to taste you, too… inside and out.

My tenderest touch on your sweetest skin is shy adoration. My firm grip, a bold promise of trust, an oath to keep you safe inside the mysterious depths of our shared intimacies. My smile, a mirror to the many delights you are.

All I ask is that you look back into my eyes, hold your own and fight for us, protect and meet me in this delicious Unexpected where by some miracle we are truly seen.

And I will flower, I will cum for you. I will suck, suckle, stroke, ride, buck, fuck and make love to you with all the grace and hunger I am. And I am. Fuck, am I ever.

Dreamingly yours,

Lola Moi xo

 

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zero circle…

Be helpless, dumbfounded,
Unable to say yes or no.
Then a stretcher will come from grace
To gather us up.

We are too dull-eyed to see that beauty
If we say we can, we’re lying.
If we say No, we don’t see it,
That No will behead us
And shut tight our window onto spirit.

So let us rather not be sure of anything,
Besides ourselves, and only that, so
Miraculous beings come running to help.
Crazed, lying in a zero circle, mute,
We shall be saying finally,
With tremendous eloquence, Lead us.
When we have totally surrendered to that beauty,
We shall be a mighty kindness.

— Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi —