#storge
It’s in the meals,
And the way you care,
In “Did you eat?”
And “Get some air”;
It’s not always soft,
Sometimes it bites,
But it still shows up,
On the hardest nights;
Family love is messy,
But it is true,
A stubborn thread,
That pulls me through.
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 9:55 AM UTC
Respect, love. Genesis 2:24
Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh
But there’s something else…
Fear
Feb 17, 2025
Feb 17, 2025 at 1:30 AM UTC
hot meals cooked by Mom,
gone, replaced, hollow airports
absence of storge
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
There are
7 different types
of love
elaborated by
the heart's
7 different
beats, decoding
7 different languages
that the mind
meddles with
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 4:00 AM UTC
She and he were inseparable
But not the always together type
It was on a much deeper level
Their hearts were in sync
But the thought of him leaving
Made her cry until she sank
The day finally came
When he left on the plane
She grew tired of trying
And so sick of crying
The hope became lost
And a last their love was doomed
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
S
o when I die, burry me inside the deepest of graves
farther than six-feet-under, because if I’m that close
I won’t behave. I’m too close to him, through the earth
I feel his sins, and they keep me alive until
T
omorrow. When the quiet life subsides, there’s no blue
left in the sky, and the life we thought we lived was just
a happy little lie. **** affection, I don’t need it, all my
lies will supercede it, and I don’t need some therapist
O
ver-analyzing my thoughts, because I’m already dead.
Love was just a word we made up to feel better about
the holes in our shoes and the ones in our hearts, and
maybe I’m not over him, but I’m over the thought of him
R
eaching out and grabbing my hands, he’s a boy, not
a man, and he’s too afraid to whisper ‘I love you, too’
because he’s too busy trying on a new pair of running
shoes, and I know he won’t ever love me, even though
G
od and him both tell me to wait and see, and I know he
won’t stay, even though he swears he’s anchored to me
and I know when the sun sets, he’ll be nowhere to be found
just burry me at least seven feet under the ground, ‘cause the
E
arth will love me more than him, and the frigid temperatures
will remind me where I am, and the sun will bleed down promises
(not so empty this time), and my corpse will be the breeding
ground for new life. I don’t love him, but I’m glad he killed me…
I always wanted to be a flower.
Now I get to be a whole bed of them.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC