The Antlers - “Palace” (by The Antlers)

You were simpler,
you were lighter when we thought like little kids.
Like a weightless, hate-less animal,
beautifully oblivious before you were hid inside a stranger you grew into,
as you learned to disconnect.

Now he hangs your mirrors separately,
so one can’t show you what the other reflects.

When he heard I was on his tail, he emptied your account and hid a part of you that’s so invaluable
(the part of you unsellable at any amount).
He left the tallest peak of your paradise
buried in the bottom of a canyon in hell,

but I swear I’ll find your light in the middle,
where there’s so little late at night, down in the pit of the well.

Then when heaven has a line around the corner,
we shouldn’t have to wait around and hope to get in
if we can carpenter a home in our heart right now
and carve a palace from within.

We won’t need to take a ton of pictures,
It won’t be easy to believe
the day we wake inside a secret place that everyone can see.

posthawk:

Her (2013)


This scene destroyed me. posthawk:

Her (2013)


This scene destroyed me. posthawk:

Her (2013)


This scene destroyed me.

posthawk:

Her (2013)

This scene destroyed me.

(via minoroperation)

THE THINGS THAT SURROUND US

The entire world was there. The magnetic north pole was there. Prince Patrick Island was introduced to Prince of Wales Island and these were not the only islands being introduced to other islands. One room was completely filled with the space around all the islands. When you asked me if I was an island I told you that I was not. When you asked me to join you in the drawing room, I told you that I could not, that I was in fact an island and that I couldn’t join anyone anywhere. Saddened and resigned, you revealed to me that you were not the two things that jut outward into the sea as I had assumed, but the little bit of gray sea between them. Then I told you I was actually the entire Arctic Ocean sometimes.

It Felt Like Coming Home
by Christina Stephens

You drove to Nashville in 1972. Your chest was full of guitar strings.

Your jug of red wine had a tiny handle. I would sneak into the kitchen and slide my finger through it, imagining. You grew orange trees with those fingers.

Your saxophone player once told me I had your smile. I must have wished hard enough.

A collection of things in your living room: A portrait of my grandmother holding a tiger. A red light fixture. The Steelers on Sundays.

On Friday nights, I sucked butterscotch candies and threw darts. You sang through the smoke.

You yelled at me once. She told me that night you cried yourself to sleep.

I watched you grow smaller on the back porch. Some days the squirrels seemed like giants.

One morning you took scissors to the lawn. You said the rabbit needed fresh grass. I wanted to save you.

This is how we play.

Underneath the skin there’s a human / Buried deep within there’s a human / And despite everything I’m still human / But I think I’m dying here