“that stubborn muscle.”

For quiet, rainy Sundays (I’m sorry, truly sorry, for my nostalgic heart);


What I’m saying is my heart,

that stubborn muscle, has learned
the wild cadences of your music; I’m saying
even when your echo fades away,
it dances on.
– Lauren Kizi-Ann Alleyne, On the Illusion of Closure


Every poem about fire,
about destruction,
about the flaming house
& all the little children
locked inside. Every poem
about loss. Every poem
a house to trap you in.
Every poem I set on fire
with you inside.
– Moriah Pearson, Every Poem


I no longer write
the way that I used to. My heart
was different then.
– I Can Barely Feel It Beating | quitethefallacy


I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?
– Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

One thought on ““that stubborn muscle.”

  1. Nostalgic hearts have an elegance of their own, even though sometimes they try to harm their owner like an autoimmunity mechanism :P Beautiful post when it comes to that stubborn muscle that ofter riots on rainy quiet *lonely* Sundays!

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