I Want To Bathe With You. There's Something Raw And Real That Spills Out Of My Every Pore When I Take

i want to bathe with you. there's something raw and real that spills out of my every pore when i take baths and i want to have you bare witness. here, let me wash your hair. i always feel loved when you let me play with your hair. let the foamy water submerge us. maybe this is baptismal, the way my love for everything around me swims into the water and eats us whole. i want to have a home with you where i bake foods ive never made before. and we are always happy. the bed is big enough for both of us and our parents can't try and get in. a place where we always just throw our shoes off at the door and end up losing them. a place where my yellow gloves ive started wearing when i do the dishes are hung to dry in the window. a place where there's a tub that's big enough for both of us. in that tub, i want to bathe with you.

sometimes when the grief gets to be too much i sit outside, even under the heat of texas sun. i listen to the wind blow through the trees in my backyard. i see the sun shining down on me. i hear neighbors laughing down the street. i look at the flowers blooming amongst green grass. i listen to songs i've loved for years and songs i'm only just now learning. i see the sky melt into the most beautiful sunset, bursts of pink and orange and purple breaking apart the blue of the day. i hear the baby birds. when the grief gets to be too much, i sit outside and remember living. i am still here. i still want to be here.

do you call it 'soulmate' or 'I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.'

anecdote of the pig, tory adkisson // achilles & partoclus // house of dragon, 1x07 // plainwater, anne carson // the truth about forever, sarah dessen // lighthousekeeping, jeanette winterson

we were like gods at the beginning of the world

everything we touched

was fresh and

filled with the gentle joy

of creation.

had you fallen as hard as i

i'm sure that the blood

leaking from your scraped knees

would be golden.

the outline of you holding me

had i been viewing as another

would've been created in constellation.

you promised me forever

and like a fool

i took your promise.

but neither of us are gods

although you may come close

and my blood is still red

and a promise of forever doesn't mean anything

when you run out of time.

on tragic heroes and the people who'd follow them anywhere.

tumblr textpost// Anne Carson, An Oresteia// Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles// Victor Hugo, Les Miserables// William Shakespeare, Hamlet// Anne Carson, An Oresteia