don't push your happiness into someone else's hands
they'll drop it
they'll drop it every time.

before sunrise

Daydream delusion, limousine eyelash / Oh baby with your pretty face / Drop a tear in my wineglass / Look at those big eyes / See what you mean to me / Sweet-cakes and milkshakes / I'm a delusion angel / I'm a fantasy parade / I want you to know what I think / Don't want you to guess anymore / You have no idea where I came from / We have no idea where we're going / Lodged in life / Like branches in a river/ Flowing downstream / Caught in the current / I carry you / You'll carry me / That's how it could be / Don't you know me? / Don't you know me by now?

sometimes you need to
bounce back -
and keep bouncing,
until you finally land.

yiayia fani

I haven’t been able to wrap my head around my own thoughts. I wish I was in a better place right now to write more beautifully for her, but I’m a little bit broken and every time I find the words I lose them within the spinning of my head. My last visit with my grandmother I paid more attention to my grandfather. I feel a bit guilty for that – that I didn’t hug her tighter or ask more questions. I just kept staring at my grandfather trying to imagine what type of heartache he would feel for losing her. It’s like I was searching for a certain amount of love he had for her… I knew he loved her. I knew he wanted her to stay.

My grandmother died peacefully on June 23rd, 2014. She stayed awake long enough for us to go say our goodbyes and to feel her warm hands for the very last time. She left my grandfather with his duties early Sunday morning. Reminding him of our upcoming birthdays and explaining how to keep the garden healthy for the summer. I’m not completely sure if she had fixed her own bed that morning; but I imagine her doing so – even with her frail body. Her last meal was a couple of Swiss Chalet french fries. Chewing slowly as my cousin showed her pictures from the 90s. She spoke to her sister that very same day. She told me to change my nail polish colour to a nice light pink. I’m not sure where I’m going with this but I guess as I slowly wrap my head around these thoughts, I’m starting to recognize the steps she took before her passing. She was a committed woman who never left anything unfinished. Maybe she knew it was her day to die, or maybe she behaved like this every day of her life but no one really noticed until Sunday.

And as my grandfather remains heartbroken I remain shattered for him.

I love you Yiayia, enjoy your infinite garden. – Michelleche

"For her I changed pebbles into diamonds, shoes into mirrors, I changed glass into water, I gave her wings and pulled birds from her ears and in her pockets she found the feathers, I asked a pear to become a pineapple, a pineapple to become a lightbulb, a lightbulb to become the moon, and the moon to become a coin I flipped for her love..."

― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

"Part of me is made of glass, and also, I love you."

everything is illuminated . 2

“From space, astronauts can see people making love as a tiny speck of light. Not light, exactly, but a glow that could be mistaken for light--a coital radiance that takes generations to pour like honey through the darkness to the astronaut's eyes.

In about one and a half centuries--after the lovers who made the glow will have long been laid permanently on their backs--metropolises will be seen from space. They will glow all year. Smaller cities will also be seen, but with great difficulty. Shtetls will be virtually impossible to spot. Individual couples, invisible.

The glow is born from the sum of thousands of loves: newlyweds and teenagers who spark like lighters out of butane, pairs of men who burn fast and bright, pairs of women who illuminate for hours with soft multiple glows, orgies like rock and flint toys sold at festivals, couples trying unsuccessfully to have children who burn their frustrated image on the continent like the bloom a bright light leaves on the eye after you turn away from it.

Some nights, some places are a little brighter. It's difficult to stare at New York City on Valentine's Day, or Dublin on St. Patrick's. The old walled city of Jerusalem lights up like a candle on each of Chanukah's eight nights...We're here, the glow...will say in one and a half centuries. We're here, and we're alive.”

everything is illuminated

I breathed you in like air, exhaled you like fire...

a little delicate

This is for the all the wasted moments.
The moments I threw away to doubt and fear.
I’ve found a place to put them.
Today, I’m feeling a little different.
I’m feeling a little delicate.

I’m going to put those moments away, tuck them behind my mind.
I’m going to enjoy every beautiful thing we build together.

- mf

your ego is what talks to you
when you're not paying attention
to your soul

I jump to your love the way a thought jumps to another thought.
effortless. without a plan.

you know what I take seriously?
the inability some have out there when they're dealing with one or none of something. When I think about the stars and the infinite space around us, that shit's pretty serious. Or the idea of a pregnant mother never getting a chance to meet her child. Or a child never getting a chance to meet his or her mother. I mean, that's serious stuff. That's the ache I can feel for, the sorry I can understand it's depth to. But to take myself too seriously? This life? To become consumed by it? I simply can't justify it. And I'm serious when I say that.

the worthy ache

It’s not love until it hurts. My heart boils and with little bursts, it grows wings that crave flight. I’m leaving the fight, against what might, work and not work. I’m setting myself free for you, take me entirely, love me selfishly, need me excessively and consume my sanity. I don’t exist in time with you, I find myself looking…but for no escape, just looking – admiring, wondering, seeking more & more of what might be pain. The worthy ache. An anxiety I want to let in.

It’s not love until it hurts.

- MF

American Hustle "Poisonous Choices"

Between Christian Bale's ability to still be sexy and charming with his comb over, bad posture and stubbly belly, and Amy Adam's intense glares she shoots at Irving because she just can't help but .... want him - this movie definitely gets my vote for #1 of 2013. I had to watch it twice to catch the subliminal messaging (the fishing story, Rosalyn's sweet and sour nail polish). Bale for an Oscar? Hell yes. Sorry Leo, yet again I didn't feel that naturalism from you.

bang bang

my baby shot me down

"Or, rather, let us be more simple and less vain."