Flames...on the side of my face

therestisbullshit:

No. 72

Don’t say you want love.

Say you want the morning light through a painted-flecked window; say you want the distance and the ache that foretells it; say you want the autumn air always arriving that never arrives; a gust of wind scraping leaves along the pavement; hills rolling toward the sea; a forest clearing at twilight; say you want the inadequate glow of a lamp hidden behind a stack of books; a glance sufficient unto itself; a memory that comes suddenly; say you want to notice, in a tree you walk past every day, a nest exposed as the leaves fall away; say you want to learn the etymology of the word “leave” and that you want to apply that knowledge somehow (but how?); say you want the sea, the sea, always the sea; clouds lowering upon the day; a meander; a slow afternoon of conversation in a shadowy bar; say you want postcards and letters, that you want to write everything, to divest yourself of words in the hope that it leaves you feeling empty in a new way; say you want to give it all up, but keep clinging; say you want a narrow path and a mountain close and a mountain faraway; a pit to fall into; the smell of bread baking; say you want lists that never end; say you’ll settle for a landscape of words; maps over which to compose voyages; say, fuck it, I want to daydream.

Say you don’t want love.

via Invisible Stories