Fatalist Palmistry

teethbehindkisses:

The typewriter tap is a metal rainfall,

and my hands are humid,

my hands are friction.

There’s a threat of lighting.

There’s a threat of drizzle.

we spend so much of our lives looking for someone who will show us the meaning of life. we expect someone to have all the answers to life, when in reality, no one does. we’re all so entirely terrified of the fact that we have no idea what this thing called existence is. the thing about that is, we always make the choice that we know in our hearts in every situation, in the moment - we must, because we make a choice no matter what. because you can’t simply make a moment not exist, you have to react to in somehow. the one that you make must, then, be the best possible choice for you, as we all have this innate feeling of what we should be doing, or perhaps what we are drawn to. either way you make a choice, so your choices and thus your actions reflect how you think all people should behave. but if we know this, we shouldn’t look for other people to have the answers, because one can only make the right choice for themselves…

teethbehindkisses:

Tell me again how passionate I am, and I’ll tell you there’s nothing but bass.

We’ll crawl into the speakers and pretend to love each other

although we don’t, we never really wanted to.

Your tiny body next to me that early, early morning

kept me up with questions and explanations. 

We’re immune to the tastes on each other’s tongues, 

of beer, and tar. Of each other’s screaming voices.

Tell me another story about the girl you loved,

all her stains and steps misplaced. 

In the morning, in the pouring rain,

I will walk you anywhere and I won’t hold your hand.

I’ll just pretend to be in love with you.

Although I’m not, and I never wanted to be.