I Was The Moth.

2 April, 1937 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

The woven silk of

Silence, petals fluttering

A delicate day

And the world is wavering

Between soft kiss and collapse

Beautiful creature 👽

You definitely are 🖤🖤🖤

I miss you every day. But today, it feels like everything I do is just here to remind me I am living without you.

its so hard to believe someone could love me. im always always too much or too little. never enough.

I do not believe there is a more dangerous and destructive force in all the world than hope, but I do not believe there is a more necessary or perfectly beautiful one either.

Tyler Knott Gregson

She rests in the arms

of a man who cannot feel her storm,

while I drown

in the flood she left behind.

I feel like a spider,

strung with longing,

spin webs from torn ribs

to catch the ghost of her smile.

Her laugh...

a blade I swallow each morning,

thanking it

for the pain.

I would tear the stars

from the throat of the heavens

just to watch her eyes

glimmer one more time.

My love is not gentle,

it is blood and bone and burning rope.

It is sleepless nights

stitched with screams

no one hears.

This is love,

where I am the pyre

and she,

the flame

that never stays

but never dies.

-Cyrus K.

My mind holds the weight of

Long sleepless nights.

Each night I

Wait there to be taken,

By the space between the blinks,

Into colours i can only

Hope to think

I could imagine,

Where life is more, and

Where sleep is less

Than a reprieve.

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