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cursedlover · 2 years
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desi love languages: [cutting up fresh fruit] [oiling someone’s hair] [buying methai as a gift] [making chai] [helping someone with their saree] [eating leftovers so that others can eat fresh food] [putting mehndi on someone’s hand] [buying a whole carton of fruit after someone mentioned they liked it] [making pakorein when it rains] [watching cricket matches together] [holding the dholki in place while someone else plays it] [pinning jasmine buds in someone’s hair]
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cursedlover · 2 years
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i’m like this [meeting your soulmate is like walking into a house you’ve been in before] [we’re two paintings staring at each other. a painting i’ve seen before, i’m sure of it] [i’m filled with something i can only describe as recognition. not because he looks familiar on the outside this time, but because he feels familiar on the inside] [she said you would feel like family] [i look everywhere. i search crowds. i take so many pictures. but i recognized you, only you. in all these years] [maybe some people are meant to be in the same story.] [i cannot live without you. i am half a man, with half a body, half a heart, half a soul.]
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cursedlover · 2 years
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in a language that doesn’t have the word love, i say “the way your curls wrap around a pencil is a dance i could watch all night”. i say “i used to set an alarm for the middle of the night in case you couldn’t sleep”. i say “no, no, i’m not crying over the movie. it’s just we are both alive at the same time and isn’t that something?”. i say “are you thirsty? i’ll bring the waterfalls to our kitchen. i’ll dig a well and take the consequences of dirt in my nails”. i say “i can’t tell if your name means heaven or hell, and i don’t know which one i’m more afraid of”. my heart is a drum and all the songs are bursting. in this world, we have love and hate and i’m so grateful we’ve picked the perfect spot to sit. i say “all my playlists are named so only you will understand them”. i say “i’ve started imagining your face for every character i read in a book.” i say, “i put honey in your tea so your throat won’t hurt.” i say, “sometimes when you’re sick, i make sure to put on a boring movie so you won’t feel like you’ve missed out if you fall asleep.” i say “i have never had enough words for you and i know that”. i say “i wish i could have enough words for you! i pray to and i wish you knew that”.
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cursedlover · 3 years
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AND THE NIGHT SAID
I LOVE YOU AS A FIST LOVES THE BROKEN RIB AS THE LUNGS LOVE THE CHASE AS THE FINGER AND NAIL LOVES THE GOUGE AND TEAR
I LOVE YOU AS THE TEETH LOVE THE TENDON AND THE TENDON THE BRUISE I LOVE YOU AS ADRENALINE LOVES THE POUNDING IN YOUR EARS
I LOVE YOU AS NATURE LOVES ABERRATION AS THE WOMB LOVES ITS STILLBORN SPAWN AND THE TREMBLING HANDS THAT HOLD THEM
I LOVE YOU AS YOU LOVE THE ONE-EYED KITTEN AND AS THE KITTEN LOVES THE STARS AS MEMORY LOVES THE PAST
I LOVE YOU AS THE 12-GAGUE SLUG LOVES THE TWO-HEADED CALF AS THE SHOVEL LOVES THE EARTH AND THE EARTH THE BODY
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cursedlover · 3 years
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And though trying to overcome sadness is like trying to remember what part of the ocean looks like the sea, I just wanted someone to hold me the way I hold my breath when I drive by your house. maybe we wanted a sin, something darker than who we were, but is it too late to hold emptiness?
If I love you, I’ll be the last to know
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cursedlover · 3 years
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please love the ghosts living in your room because they are dead and they’ve seen you crying and naked or having sex or masturbating or all of these and they're still in your room. with you. they'll never leave you. not even when times get rough.
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cursedlover · 3 years
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I'd show you how much i love you but you probably don't want to see it because you have other people to be loved by and to love.
I'd forget my own name to learn yours but you probably won't notice because you have long forgotten mine.
i think the way i feel about you could set the ocean on fire.
i think its okay.
it is ought to be this way.
love isn't like this
it isn't heartache after heartache
it isn't a void
it isn't misery on sunny days
it isn't feeling a lump at the back of my throat
love doesn't wrap a green noose of envy around my neck
love doesn't cry me to sleep
maybe what I'm trying to say is
you and me
we're not love
most of the time I don't think I miss you
i think I write because i wanted an excuse to
talk
and
talk
and
talk
about you
and this void inside my body
once filled by you
which no amount of anything can fill now.
not even you.
all the love that has ever surrounded me
never felt like mine to consume anyway.
you make it easier to believe it's true.
today on June 15 you're the farthest from me you have ever been.
i still wake up with things to tell you.
it's not okay.
it'll never be.
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cursedlover · 3 years
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Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.
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cursedlover · 3 years
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Change. The beautiful boy you got attached to in grade 9 , about whom ur first poem was and ur last poem will be, no longer asks you about your books. He graduated college and is immigrating. The girl you thought you liked in grade 10 in a desperate attempt to prove ur sexuality will probably get engaged soon. The friend who’ve been keeping you alive for the past 3 years is leaving for Canada. The hundreds of people who were a distraction from the first one and shook so much obsession and emotions within you feel unreal. The poems printed about them on your book’s inner covers feel unfamiliar.
Change. Leaving and travelling and graduating and loving. You hate change especially when it happens to everyone but not you. You feel like you’re being pushed into healing and as unbearable as the pain is, you can’t allow urself to be detached from it because you wouldn’t know who you are without it and you wouldn’t know what to write about. And without your nauseating writings you’ll be empty space. Yes you’re graduating too and university is near. But you’ll still sleep on the same stained mattress you cried on in grade 8, you’ll still find the paper bag of books smelling of his fingertips at the back of ur closet. You’ll still walk uncomfortably in this body on this floor and when it becomes unbearable you’ll find the same black scissors.
Change. You’d give up all 10 fingers to be 13 again but 13 year old you wept in the same spots and carried ambition like a burden on the same shoulders.
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