It is as easy as a car crash – a car & a body – a leaping body, a pedestrian body – witnessed from a cigarette sidewalk how a body is & isn’t. This is the summer I am so sad you don’t want to leave me alone for five goddamn minutes: you even shave my legs for me every morning before you shave yours & you drop me off at the Chinese restaurant next to the tattoo parlor where you work & I sit at a table in the back all day ostensibly writing ostensibly being but mostly just – not dying I guess which is enough I guess. I wash the cuffs of your shirts – blood & ink splattered – in the sink every day. You ban the words I’m sorry but I mean it anyway – the only Am I’m sure of. The moment when a woman is just a body & there I am frozen & want to walk out on you & the bar tab & walk straight back to bed please I’m sorry I’ll do better tomorrow please better tomorrow I will have a poem to show you a poem that lies about how tired it is, how it wants only to lay down beside the body & ask the woman her name.
Portia Elan, “You Never Only Say I Love You; You Always Say I Love You Portia” (via pigmenting)
We are the generation of nostalgia. We grew up in the age of transition. From hand-written letters to electronic mails. From film to digital. We were fascinated by new things, neglecting the way we spend our afternoons. Cupcakes and tea. Play-Doh and Polly Pockets. Young and naive. Technology completely changed the way we waited and we grew up too fast. The simple things in life seems more meaningful now. We grew up in the age of transition and have become the generation of nostalgia. this explains the 90s kids (via ladymargaerytyrells)