August 22, 2014

charlyne-bandit-yi:

We cannot sum ourselves into a number, say age.
Or define and call ourselves by time. We are not that simple.
We are not a math problem. There is no equation
equal to or greater than our individual lives.

Age is a place, not a person. When we forget this we are completely disregarding reality — who we are and where we came from — these naive restrictions in our minds can stunt our hearts from fully grasping the true understanding that there is so much greatness and life to be explored. That there is so much to learn. Life is full of change and growth- and it is only natural that numbers will grow as we do.

We are not old.
We are alive - whether our skin gets weathered or not
we are here now. Together.
And our hearts stay young.

August 22, 2014
Yesterday I got a #letter from roni aka @ochremesa and it had all these awesome art pieces.  I especially love the work with the two barely clad women and what looks like a zombie by Ian Francis.  It’s called fireland and it’s so cool. I was touched that she reads my blog and enjoyed my lists. She even sent me empty lists to write my bucket list and my top activities. Now I can carry them around in my small traveling notebook yay! Be on watch for those instagrams/entries. I love getting #mail. It’s really neat. Thank you roni and I’ll be messaging you this weekend!  #badjonesrising

Yesterday I got a #letter from roni aka @ochremesa and it had all these awesome art pieces. I especially love the work with the two barely clad women and what looks like a zombie by Ian Francis. It’s called fireland and it’s so cool. I was touched that she reads my blog and enjoyed my lists. She even sent me empty lists to write my bucket list and my top activities. Now I can carry them around in my small traveling notebook yay! Be on watch for those instagrams/entries. I love getting #mail. It’s really neat. Thank you roni and I’ll be messaging you this weekend! #badjonesrising

August 21, 2014

shutl0w:

winter baby / february 2013

August 21, 2014

lilcreamsicle:

I got on the plane that took off from narita airport on saturday, august 16th. two days before that, I met someone who, in the most cliche, tropic, coming-of-age movie way, changed everything for me, fixed me dizzy and blind, twisted me into the kind of girl who asks, is it possible to fall in love in two days?

do you fall in love with a person or how you see the person? do you love his mouth or the way it makes you feel? is it his laugh, or is it how it turns you golden? do you let yourself? do you trust someone with your vulnerabilities after 48 hours spent under hot white sheets, do you forget that home is not this dazed asakusa apartment, that this man with the strong hands is not your salvation? do you think, even for one minute, that you could just stay? when you draw blood from his shoulder with your fingernails at 3am, under him in a gasp. when the first time he kissed you, he tilted your chin up under the streetlights, and said, I got you, and his hand wrote love letters in the curve of your waist.

here’s the thing. I know how to tell a love story, and I know a lot, more than I’d like to, about goodbyes. but when it comes to something like this, I’m useless, adolescent, like I never grew up and never been hurt, like I know nothing about how precarious yearning gets, because everything about this is wrong and strange and different, and how could you not fall in love in tokyo? how could you not let yourself grow the stem of a dream, with the way the city drowns you? and this man, who says things like, I would take such good care of you. who says things like, when you look right at me you make my knees weak. who asks you to stay, in the muffle of an exquisite moment, with his mouth on your neck and his hands around your wrists, the violence of him pushing you up against the glass wall the night before, then the loveliness of a kiss on the forehead at 8 in the morning. is it possible? is it survivable?

these days it seems like I’m always getting on planes already filled with the urge to jump from them. the last time we kissed, the last time I saw him, he was saying to me, on the train at shinjuku station, “I’ll see you again.” yes, please. from 6000 miles away, please.

This is so damn gorgeous. The questions are exquisite and it actually makes me want to say yes to love when just today I was mentally reviewing past prospects and saying no left and right. Do you think my writing would ever get as good as this once I fall in love?

(please say yes)

August 21, 2014

Anonymous said: That was truly sweet of you, Eileen. I really liked that letter. I'm going to save it. But I wasn't actually talking about suicide, so don't worry about that. I don't harm myself; unless having over a dozen tattoos count. I actually meant *whenever* I die. You're the only one, surprisingly, who came to my mind when I asked myself, "What the fuck am I gonna do with all these poems?" So I knight thee Keeper of the Verse. Also...I'll always love you for this letter :)

Dude you scared the shit out of me lol. I’m so glad that you aren’t suicidal. That’s weird that I’m the only one you thought of but it’s still quite the honor. Thank you! I love my title hehe. Aww and I’ll always remember you as the first guy that I ever believed to really love me hehe.

I’m actually not sure about keeping that letter up on my blog since I cut myself wide open in it. Totally fine for you to save it though. I’m very happy that you loved it. I’ll just let it stay. To write well is to be vulnerable right? At least that’s what I believe anyway.

And I saw your entry about me on your WordPress. Apology accepted lol. Love the title. And I’m so happy for you that you got job promotions! That’s awesome. And your tags (cute, cake, 2 Chainz) are so damn random but I adore it hehe.

I’m glad to be your supporter and friend. Keep writing man.

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