On Home - Tumblr Posts
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
— Robert Frost
i’m building a house out of i love yous
“Saying i love you every minute lessens the meaning” um to YOU….freak.
from In the House With No Doors by Sarah Kay
tumblr feels like my little holiday home? a second home away from home. full of shared fragments.
Tiles! I want to have a kitchen wall full with different designs
omg yes please
More beautiful tiles, every single one of these please
wandering..
I will forever stay intertwined in these blankets of my childhood
Where did home go? Why can't I find it?
we are not HOME
@chivalryisde, pinterest//the wanderer, celine zabad//(unknown author), pinterest//inspirationfeed, pinterest//IGNANT, lossapardo//inspirationfeed, pinterest//the wolf in the attic, paul kearney//phychogeography, chelsea dingman//emily dickinson//a.m, pinterest
sleepy
home is the first grave // until i gather the strenth to drag my bones out the front door my soul will haunt these shadowed halls. the kitchen echos of angrily washed dishes and silent mornings, the living room reverberates arguments past and loud screams. the room is filled with quiet sobs and repeated whispers, just once more then you’ll be done, just hold on once more. but it’s once more in the same way that soon will never be here and then is never now.
maybe one day her bones stacked in the corner will feel the warmth of a soul alight. maybe one day she’ll finally breathe without cracked collarbones. maybe one day she’ll know the little death and stop visiting her grave. maybe then she’ll have a home that echos of giggles and glows with morning light. maybe then church won’t be so far.
home is the first grave // until i gather the strenth to drag my bones out the front door my soul will haunt these shadowed halls. the kitchen echos of angrily washed dishes and silent mornings, the living room reverberates arguments past and loud screams. the room is filled with quiet sobs and repeated whispers, just once more then you’ll be done, just hold on once more. but it’s once more in the same way that soon will never be here and then is never now.
maybe, hopefully.
and so she starts the prayer again. just once more, once more.
home is the first grave // until i gather the strenth to drag my bones out the front door my soul will haunt these shadowed halls. the kitchen echos of angrily washed dishes and silent mornings, the living room reverberates arguments past and loud screams. the room is filled with quiet sobs and repeated whispers, just once more then you’ll be done, just hold on once more. but it’s once more in the same way that soon will never be here and then is never now.
the memories might have been made in another place, but they are my memories and so i will bring them with me. it’s the people who make it a home.
