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fray narte Aug 15
my lungs are made of sunbleached storms
and unfinished poems,
stalled and trapped in a cycle
of kisses under the disco lights
and muddled
phonograph records;
it's been so long
since they last sealed
my comets shut;
its ice, dust,
ammonia, sadness,
now trying to spill
out of my chest
every time i sigh a word.

that's what club music is good for;
they mask the sound
of breaking down;
the sound of
bodies and meteors
falling apart;
each noise drowns out
my unsent letters,
and restroom meltdowns,
and my voice, saying your name
over and over and over again
as i come undone
on a stranger's lap.
he looked almost just like you —
and then he didn't.

and my comets almost all stayed,
but they didn't.

and i was almost just alive —
and then i wasn't.

honey, the world got us all wrong —
brewing *****, noise
and ash-brown eyes
across the floor —
it's happiness until it isn't;
in the end,
we're still comets
melting into solar flares
and forlorn figures
that never make it home.

the music fades.
the glasses fall.
it's 8 am, and we still wake up
to the suntrails of all the things we'd lost.
fray narte Aug 12
sometimes, we all wish for the world to just stop spinning for a while; that we remain sixteen or nineteen forever — just dreaming of painting the marmoris of the sea and seeing it displayed in a museum. just dreaming of browsing bookstores — each book sinking into your effleurage, until you see that cream-colored cover with your name on the spine. just dreaming of hearing a song from a stranger's car, and call it your own. just dreaming of creating stories out of piano keys. just dreaming of discovering a star.

at least, if the world stopped spinning today, a dream can remain as a dream forever. it will never be another thing we messed up. it will never be another dream we lost.
Inspired by Ted's line in HIMYM, "The longer i put off starting my own firm, the longer it can remain a dream and not something i ******* up at."
سماء Aug 3
Am I still excited to wake up every morning?
fray narte Jul 23
When did you start waiting for shooting stars to dance in the skies? When did you start bending down and let your wish fall upon a six-petal ixora? When did you start hoping for four-leaf clovers in the fields? When did you start whispering your secret dreams to yourself before blowing the birthday candles? When did you start tossing pennies on wishing wells? When did you start muttering you heart's desire on fallen eyelashes? When did you start staying up late to wait for 11:11 to come?

When did you start believing in the magic they bring?


When did you stop?
fray narte Jul 23
And maybe all I need is my 30-year old self to come here right now and tell me that everything will be okay, and that I made it.

— “I would’ve totally done that for my 13-year old self”
fray narte Jul 18
We thought we would lose each other to better people we would meet in the subway with charming smiles and eyes that talked like the stars. We thought we would lose each to people whose words would come out of our favorite books, whose thoughts were the other halves of our own. We thought we would lose each other to people whose skins were colored like sunsets and that the silhouettes in them were us.

I thought I would lose you to someone who would look at you like you were the moon. I thought I would lose you to someone who would sing you a lullaby of poetries in your dreams — to someone whose kiss could extinguish the sun and would make one out of you. You thought you would lose me to someone whose demons would haunt me better than yours. You thought you would lose me to someone my favorite books were named after — to someone who would undress me the way the autumn undresses the trees.

But honey, we were wrong for we lost each other to the forgotten good nights. We lost each other to the asteroid belts that descended between us. We lost each other to the spaces that grew from your skin to mine, to the hands that forgot how summer was brewed when they touched, to the kisses that told stories we no longer wanted to read.

We lost each other to the nights that made the falling stars leave the cosmos, to the nights we slept fighting and woke up with winters in our hearts. We lost each other to the tears that dropped in the coffees, tossed in the sink, to the songs that sounded like a battle cry and we were too drained to fight. We lost each other to the fact that I was once the sea and you were once the shore,

and that the sea stopped sending the waves, and the shore stopped making sand dunes for her.

We didn't lose each other to better people or to huge fights the rain has cheered for, or to the whims of fate. We lost each other to the little things. We lost each other gradually, and then all at once.

Honey, we lost each other to who we are now — we lost each other to the people we've become.
fray narte Jul 18
We were always so good at pretending, weren’t we? We would always climb rooftops and pretend that we were stargazers, christening constellations with our favorite songs. Look, there was Somebody Else. There was Nobody’s Home. There was Chasing Cars.

We would pretend we were souls from the 50s, reincarnated into another life — into another happy ending. We would pretend we were art critics, as if we knew **** about Klimt; as if we could tell apart baroque from classical. We would tell each other our weirdest dreams and analyze them, as if we were Freud or something, that misogynistic pig. Oh, you dreamt about us drowning together in the Black Lake? Oh, that means we were gonna have *** tonight, in the absence of the moon. We would pretend that we’ve circled the whole world and that Italy’s got the ******* blandest pizza. We would pretend that we were rock stars, surfing on the crowd.

We would pretend that we’d read the classics. Was that Harry or Henry in The Picture of Dorian Gray? Yeah, Hamlet was pretty cool, but who was Ophelia? ******* pseudo-intellectuals, we were. Nonetheless, I loved pretending with you. We loved pretending that the whole world wasn’t crashing down — that we weren’t stuck in this ******* of a small town, and that the world spun for us. We loved pretending that everything would be okay — that we could leave someday without looking back. We loved pretending that our lives weren’t all over the place. We loved pretending that we were the brave ones, that we could **** ourselves by 40 because the world wouldn’t be kind when we’re all old and saggy.

We loved pretending that we were too cool for mental breakdowns and for any kind of feeling. Honey, we loved pretending that we were psychopaths, too voided for love and all that other crap — that we hated clichés, while doing the most romanticized clichés anyway. We loved pretending that this was where the chapter would end, and that we were together in our make-believe ending. We loved pretending that we were the ones who stayed and made it.

Now, sometimes, I would pretend that we did. Other times, it would be me pretending I was all there ever was — that you never were here to pretend with me, and that I was okay. I would pretend that the rooftop wasn’t too high, and that I didn’t need your help to climb — that the company of city lights and the empty space were enough, honey they never were. Honey, I would pretend too that I never missed you. But I did.

I always did. More than that I would ever admit.

I would look at the stars, the ones we named but I guess they all had already fallen to the earth. You said that when you died, you would live in the shooting stars so that you could crash to the earth and come back to me. But it had been more than a decade since the angels took you away and I no longer stargazed, except tonight. And maybe, just maybe, when I would catch a glimpse of a falling star, I still wouldn’t wish that you didn’t chase your meds with *****. I wouldn’t wish that we didn’t find bubbles coming out of your mouth, like they were a part of your soul. I wouldn’t wish that I didn’t see you die. I wouldn’t wish that you were okay; we both knew we wouldn’t have clicked if one of us was happy or okay.

Heaven, hell, we didn’t believe in those. But when a star would fall unto my chest, I would wish that wherever you were right now or wherever you would be in the next life, darling, you would no longer feel the need to pretend.

And with no lies, no masks, no pretenses, I loved you. Here. And in the next. And in the lives after that, until we lived in one where we would both have the courage to abandon all pretense and just sit on a different rooftop, sharing silence — sharing honest thoughts — sharing the luster of distant stars. And tomorrow, our demons wouldn’t rise with the sun. And we would be okay.
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