The Duke of Fire and the Duchess of Ice

Passionate love for the Duke of Fire
the Duchess of Ice felt.
One kiss was her heart’s desire,
but with one kiss she would melt.

She dreamed of him in his red pantaloons,
in his orange satin blouse,
in his crimson cravat,
in his tangerine hat,
in his vermilion dancing shoes.

One kiss, one kiss,
lips of flame on frost,
one kiss, pure bliss,
and never count the cost.

She woke. She went to the bathroom.
She took a freezing shower-
her body as pale as a stalagmite,
winter’s frailest flower.

The Duke of Fire stood there,
radiant, ablaze with love,
and the Duchess of Ice cared nothing
for anything in the world.

She spoke his name,
her voice was snow,
kissed him, kissed him again,
and in his warm, passionate arms
turned to water, tears, rain.

Carol Ann Duffy

(Gouda with M.)

You make me feel like dancing

"You've got a cute way of talkin'

You got the better of me

Just snap your fingers and I'm walkin'"

(The Punisher)

But I actually enjoy fighting with you

(27 Dresses)

  "Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity."

Hanlon's Razor

And face the music, alive and dancing

Stimming for the thousandth time, maybe

"Oh, I can't make this up, what if I fuck it up?

Well, then I'm wrong

You're not the perfect someone made for me"

En esta historia sólo yo me (debo) muerir

“All Bette's stories have happy endings. That's because she knows where to stop. She's realized the real problem with stories—if you keep them going long enough, they always end in death.”

Neil Gaiman, in The Sandman

(Y yo me moriré de amor porque te quiero, porque te quiero, amor, a sangre y fuego)

"I can handle you" 

Hot rabbi quote

And so she left

 

Gravity

Gravity keeps trying to pull me down, but you also keep making me feel like I am floating

If there could be only one, one perfect Hollywood kiss

This would be it.

(Nobody wants this)

Talk to me

"I'd like to think you feel the same way

But I can't tell with you sometimes

So, baby, let's get on the same page

Stop making me read between the lines

Already know I can't leave it alone

You're on my mind

Already gave you the time and the place

So, don't be shy

Just come be the man I need

Tell me you got something to give, I want it

I kinda like it when you call me wonderful

Whatever the type of talk it is, come on then"

(Olivia, are you inside my head? ahah)

Between the spaces

“I am not sure what love is”, they say, “would you please explain it to me, what does it feel like?”

And I have felt love aplenty, I understand the needs of biology and hormones that inform it, the sense of duty or the twisted logic behind the unhealthy choices we keep tripping into. I also know how it feels like when love webs and slowly vanishes, making the same soft but crackling sound the autumn leaves do as the wind scatters them. Or when it morphs into something dulled, soft and malleable, yet durable.

But what do I know about love?

When I was little they told me love was when someone said “I love you!”, and if they said it fiercely enough, if they grabbed onto you with enough strength to leave a mark, then it must be true. Even if it came after a slap, after many unkind words, some screaming. Screaming was supposed to be love.

Is it?

Then love was showing your true self despite the risks of rejection and derision, love was taking someone else’s place to spare them and sacrificing yourself, changing, wanting someone to be happy even if it means they are not with you. All plots of Disney movies watched, rewatched in the darkness.

But what if love just happens?

What if love does not fit into words, what if it escapes all definitions attempting to pin it down and exists between the spaces, can you still feel it? Maybe love is what wooshes through your chest sometimes in a tight, concentrated blow, expanding it painfully. Maybe love leaves you feeling kind of happy, kind of sad all the time, as if loving is the same as being alive, feeling everything in every moment. Noticing what a beautiful sky there is today above you.

I think love might be that.

It might be a half smile that rises unbidden, the spark that brightens your eyes when you’re speaking, no matter how mightily you try to resist it. Love might very well be whatever it is that rises in me whenever you open the door.

Shit.

On painful, if funny, truth

So can we say we'll never say the classic stuff, to show it

"We could be nice to each other

Nice to each other

Wrong for each other, right for each other

And rise to each other

Rise to each other"

(Is Olivia Dean my new favourite singer, or is this a very happy coincidence? I've been listening to 5 or 6 of her songs non-stop lately)

 

Fairy circle