fall in love

“

Don’t fall in love with a curious one.
They will want to know who you are, where you come from, what your family was like.
They will look through your photographs and read all of your poems. They will come over for dinner and speak to your mother about how their curiosity has taught them things of use to her. They will ask you to rant when you’re angry and cry when you’re hurt.
They will ask what that raised eyebrow meant. They will want to know your favorite food, your favorite color, you favorite person. They will ask why.
They will buy that camera you liked, pay attention to that band you love in case there’s a show near by, they will get you the sweater you smiled at once. They’ll learn to cook your favorite meals.
The curious people don’t settle for your shell, they want the insides.
They want what makes you heavy, what makes you uneasy, what makes you scream
for joy, and anger, and heartbreak.
Their skin will turn into pages
that you learn to pour out your entire being in.
Don’t fall in love with the curious one.
They won’t let a sigh go unexplained.
They will want to know what they did
Exactly what they did to make you love them.
Year, month, week, day.
“What time was it? What did I say? What did I do?
How did you feel?”
Don’t fall in love with a curious one because I’ve been there.
They will unbutton your shirt
and read every scar
every mark
every curve.
They will dissect your every limb, every organ, every thought, every being
then walk back home and eat their dinner and never return your calls.
You will never be their lifelong expedition. The heart is a mystery only for so long.
There is no ache like loving a curious one
who chases every falling star and never catching one.
Who comes and sees and conquers
and leaves.

I’ve fallen in love with a curious one.
Maybe one day he will take the train back home
and be curious enough to read one last message from me
carved on a seat.

"There’s a curiosity in you that will move mountains some day
as effortlessly as you’ve moved me for years.”

Don’t Fall In Love With The Curious One

http://mlcli.tumblr.com/

tactile

I like touching.
I think it's a nice idea to trace our lives with our fingertips.
Because truth is, our skin remembers.
And I think our skin has a slightly different memory than the one belonging to our brain. Yes, I know, technically they are all tied to the brain, but you know what I mean.
The skin remembers.
So trace and touch and enjoy the quiet and overwhelming whole-ness of touch.
This doesn't have to be sexual, though of course, that would have its perks.

But no, touching is simple. It's cotton fabrics, or sunny skin, or hot or cold or smooth or whatever, or moss or berries, or water, or sand, or pages of books or holding a pencil, or whatever. I mean, skin gets the point here, but over-all, everything is nice.
Tactile lives are so much richer I think. And sometimes when a whole wintertide has been spent wearing mittens I forget how divine it is to touch.

Tactile.
M.

I traced the beginning of when I started writing in English.
August 22, 2010, when i had an abundance of questions at 1am.
Including
When exactly did I stop wanting anything, at all? (Except maybe like 27 and a half hours of sleep)