First page of that punk kid Rilke’s lame ass Florence diary.
Sucede que un día de tantos, resulta imposible mantener la sonrisa en los labios. Resulta que un día cualquiera se desarman las ganas, se desparraman los sueños de los labios, sucede que de repente te encuentras hecho añicos en una calle cualquiera sin ganas de seguir caminado.
they told it wrong -
i flew for the sun
as i would chase a lover
i was not lost, nor
and then -
he greeted me with
the only love he knew to give
and i swear, as i fell,
i saw him smile, and
as i sunk beneath the waves
i heard - come, love,
again, try once more -
my faith for you burns.
I’ve been reading a lot of myths lately, and I feel for the ones we’re telling stories about.
I wonder what Icarus must have felt when he took that first draft of air up into the clouds.
I wonder what Echo felt when she saw Narcissus for the first time.
Was Icarus free?
Was Echo in love?
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if they met.
You see, they know what it’s like to want something.
I wonder what Icarus felt when he tried to kiss the sun.
I wonder what Echo felt the moment Narcissus saw her.
Then Icarus touched the water and Echo vanished into the air, and I still wonder.
Why do I continue stretching out my hands when yours are closed?
Thank you for not loving me like I did, I had so much to give that I used what was left over to rebuild my mind and soul to a better me when you walked away.
—Michael Daaboul (via michaeldaaboul)