#the wild hearts series

Do you remember the daze of early summer

Sun glazed haze of shyness in our eyes

Joined together in laughter, 
sat on a rickety table and locked ourselves to one another, 
lent in too quick 

Spilled pints

And saw a flash of something
In the upturned corner of your shy smile. 


I am filled with the breath of you

As if I could float through stars. 

Felt like everything, thereafter,

A night where I didn’t sleep

Stared upwards at

White pained walls where you weren’t

And fell,

Unendingly

And over and over again

dosenherz:

don’t kill your beasts. the way others mention your loves in tales about the earth made from dead giants and a whisper. there is a howling in your skull but you won’t crack. gold-fanged fairies won’t heal the cuts you leave in your face when you dress up for the woods and the bottle of liquor in that boy’s hand. they will laugh and chirp, and then pry his clothes apart until they hold his heart or whatever part he promised you. there is a whining behind your fingertips when you hold your mouth shut, so your mother won’t see the blood. you won’t cry until you find yourself on the floor of the shower. you will close your eyes and watch his body and the flowers, the thick stench of what you will remember as honey. you are art. outside the galleries and stranger’s eyes more intimate than hands for a shake or between your legs. you are the soft fur of the wolf behind bars. watch your sheep bones pale in the moonlight. but don’t kill your beasts the way you kill your loves.

dosenherz:

can i eat enough words to be a weight you want to carry;

i torch my hair to resemble the women in your town but the scent is too sweet to be gasoline, tears, a tremor; there’s no map to my heart.

my mother calls me to ask about the rain, i count my toes and tell her i haven’t felt hurt in a while. there’s nothing left beneath the aching.

if you spray hair lacquer into the light in my hands will you forget about the scars the water left around my ankles when i become a cloud of fire; do you think the brand marks you leave on my neck tell others to go when i don’t want to be alone and what good of us if we’re both lonely.

you know i’m not missing in the parts of my body you’d like to bury yourself in.

you know i am too full to be your empty.

i wake with a mouth full of sand and a gas station receipt: schnaps for 3 and a half bubblegum dreams sticking to your sneaker, and it says i paid for your cigarettes. poor you. 

crescentemlunam:

ayyasarisha:

Dear Future Man,

I don’t mean to write you a bullshit letter, but I did. Since you sent hundreds letters by my doorstep and I haven’t responded any of those, so here we go.

I’m definitely not good at this, you know that. I left you not because you’re not good enough. I’m just afraid that you’ll do it first. So I took a step away, from you, from your life. I’m still trying to understand what’s wrong with me. I’m still trying to define what I feel, and what I want. And I’m not good at saying sorry, so I’ll just write it down.

The thing is, I hate you. I hate you being you. I hate your snobbish pompous way. I hate your solicitude. I hate your taste of musics. I hate your books. I hate your stories. I hate your writings. I hate your letters. Even I hate your smile and I hate the look in your eyes. I don’t like the way you show your affection on me. So please, I don’t want you to stay. I don’t want you to come back again.

And now it’s your turn to tell me a lie.

Sincerely,

Your Favorite Fabulist

God, that last bit.

The Wild Hearts is a network for love letters and the like.

This isn’t exclusively just a letter to a lover - it can be to a past of future self, a family member, a historical figure, a feeling - the list is endless, and is entirely decided by you lovely people.

The submissions so far have been beautiful. So, please continue to send in your letters, and if you’re submitting anonymously, be sure to sign off with a pseudonym or your initials so we know who you are.

You can submit via the submit link, or by sending an anonymous ask if you wish to stay hidden.

We are following the tag THE WILD HEARTS SERIES, so if you wish to just tag your letters with those, we will be able to see, and they will be added to our growing collection.

Members will be posting with thewildheartsnet to distinguish themselves.

Yours,

Wild Hearts.

maelinoe:

Lover,

Today was the day.

I looked through old photographs – ones that you will never see because I’d have deleted them by then, hopefully next week. They may be gone but I can’t promise that I won’t try to recreate some with you. Not because I’m trying to compare you to him, not at all, I’m erasing the past. A spring cleaning of sorts; I want to fill everything up with you, including the past.

The ghost of a smile greeted my features, as the picture of my first hickeys came on screen, then the ring on my finger, and many more pictures I would rather not say. Nostalgia settled like a silken scarf over my throat – soft and so unlike the knife it once was. It did not choke me, it only laid there, pretty as the pink scars on my thighs.

But you’ll soon know these scars aren’t pink, some day for the need to romanticize myself I will tell you these thickened razor marks resemble the color of your eyes so much, a deep tea color, and you’ll wonder if you reminded me of those tumultuous times – the ship tossed woman I was, the good girl who gave in, and gave in, and it will scare you to think that maybe I have folded in to you too.

But that is not what I mean. See, I’m terrible at loving. I’m a shitty poet when it comes to you. What I meant was, your eyes tell me that healing doesn’t always come in the color of spring. Healing leaves stains, and not all pretty by the world’s standards.

Sweetheart, what I’m saying is, I am stained ugly from head to toe.

There is watermelon red down my back, green fingertips dot my ribs and breast, Mars is dying at the base of my throat, and a brimstone moth has settled across my face. Can you look at me without cringing?

I don’t care anymore, today was the day I finally let go.

I am still falling like maple leaves, but for the first time,

I am emptied.

For the first time, I am my own.

And

Yours,

Camille.

-Camillea // FUTURE LOVER SERIES | THE WILD HEARTS 

maelinoe:

lover,

i can’t imagine who you are, or what shape you would take in my life. what kind of space you would occupy. people tell me one thing, myself another — i don’t trust any of it. i am always my own empire. i hope you will be, too. because when we meet, we’ll go to war. this is not two armies, clashing against one another, but two wills, two worlds. colliding, crashing mid-air. our love will be a plane crash. our love will be shapeless, like water, surviving against all odds, following the shape of its container. our love will be blood, the way a star blooms when it dies. and i wouldn’t have it any other way. i hope you, too, feel the same. but it will also be this: infinite tenderness, afternoon light, the rustle of a familiar book after midnight. your favourite song on the radio, long drives with friends, walks on the beach. we’ll keep each other wild, and we’ll keep each other safe. we’ll build a home in each other’s bones & call it by name. 

 not yet yours, and never yours, 

but possibly, impossibly, 

wild heart (s.p)

//Submitted by christophercarrioned

maelinoe:

Soul,

Here are some things to look forward to: hearing her whisper “I love you” and having the world not seem quite so bad anymore; hearing her laugh, sweet as honey, and knowing that this is what it means to finally be home; holding her close as she’s falling asleep to the sound of your trainwreck heartbeat, then kissing her forehead with a smile on your lips.

Stay strong,

Wild Heart.

(Submitted by a-polarised-reality)

maelinoe:

To the Healing Woman,

They will vilify you.
The lover you left. Their friends that you laughed with on so many drunken late nights, the family that gave you hugs and said how happy they were that your other half had found you. They will all become ghosts but it’s you that will have to suffer through a prolonged death. It will eat you alive like cancer and when you think you’re in remission the doctor will call you in to their office to talk.
And that’s perfectly fine.
There will always be some way for someone to turn it into your fault, something you did, or something you didn’t do enough of. Hell, it could be your fault.
That’s also totally fine.
Because it doesn’t really matter who left whom or why or how a thousand different moments could have gone supernova into a different reality. You feel like you’re on fire from the inside out and the only thing worse than that pain is the numbness that follows once it’s burnt everything out of you.
You do not have to justify yourself. Not to a single goddamn soul.
You will want to explain. You will want people to understand. You will become angry at how they can’t wrap their head around what it was like, and why some of them still believe the lies they are fed by other people. Darling, this is a bad dream and you have just as good of a chance as accurately depicting every nuanced detail of a nightmare you had years ago as you will convincing someone of emotions they haven’t felt, words they haven’t heard. You just can’t.
What you can do is take solace in the people who shake their head and go “Damn I can’t even imagine.” and hug you, saying that they are happy you have a chance to find something better. Your best friends won’t get everything, but they get you back, and their enthusiasm will show.
So take that first step. Or jump off a waterfall. Focus on your career or road trip for a month. Go to the bar you never thought you’d end up in and learn a line dance. Take French lessons. At this point, you get the picture right?
Do whatever the FUCK you WANT to.
Because you not having to justify why it ended, doesn’t end there. You don’t owe anybody an explanation.
If you have enough love in you for just one night, and you want to share it just to prove you still can, do it. Approach the stranger. Flirt awkwardly. Kiss them just because you want to. Be reminded of what it feels like to have someone pull your shirt over your head for the first time. You are not being a slut, you are not a whore, you should not be ashamed. You got what you wanted and damn, it felt good didn’t it?
If you want to save up the drops of love that find their way back into your well, do it. Go out with your friends. Date yourself. Go to a fancy restaurant in heels and a journal and write about how weird the people are around you. Rebuff advances, finish your degree, spend time with your family and strong women that you admire. Once you have enough love stored up for YOURSELF, it will overflow and there will be someone not too far away who can’t wait to mix their water with yours and drown in it with you.
Cry. For god’s sake cry, that is not weakness, that is being emotionally alive and to suppress it kills part of your beauty. If you can’t cry but you want to, put on some sad music, look through old photos, read old exchanges. Let the salt carry those last microscopic pieces of the pain out.
If you want to do any mixture of any of those things or a million others, do it.
Because you are an ever changing masterpiece and should never apologize for not turning to stone. You will change scenes, colors, styles. You will be a blank canvas some days and guess what.
That’s completely fine.
Because the people who matter the most won’t give a shit about what form you are in. They’ll carry a frame around and look at you through it because they will realize you are a work of art too exquisite to be confined and hung on a wall. You are life.
Go live.

Yours,
Wild Heart.

(Submitted by licentiam)

seafoamsouls:

Dear (former) lover,

(former resonates through my head as I write to you)

It’s cliché, bordering on meaningless, but I hope you’re okay. I hope air passes through your lungs easily and your heart beats one hundred thousand times a day.

I ripped myself open for you, from the knave to the brain, and spilled every cubic inch of my soul into your welcoming palms. But I did so superficially, as I’m sure you know by now. Oh - I didn’t lie, but I didn’t have the words to scream to you of how Death was passing me daily and the prayers I spoke were killing me.

I care for you deeply; 

You cross my mind from time to time, or more truthfully more times than I would ever tell someone. Sometimes I think I took deeply too literally because you swim in the deepest crevices of my bones and carve your way into my subconsciousness with every new person I pass.

it’s not a fly-by-night affair.

(I wish I had these words when we were drowning, instead of just “sorry” and “my heart is bleeding”).

sincerely - because I know you no more -
my wild, beating heart

ps. take solace in knowing that those early months were the most genuine love I’ve ever had and for every mournful poem, for every dysfunctional truth, I don’t regret you for a minute (and I hope I never will).

tagged by @crescentemlunam. inspired by this image. 

(unofficially tagging anyone who wants to do this!)

written by m.i.m, for@thewildheartsnet.

crescentemlunam:

My Dearest Love,

Every time we’re apart for more than a handful of days, my world starts to slow down, and then rush past as if it were pointless. True, we each have many things in our lives that are independent of each other, but without you to talk about them with face to face, they lose their shine. My excitement dims, and the hours pass like minutes, leaving me having accomplished very little.

We’ve gone from the closest of new couples to the most enduring of lovers to the center of a family that will grow in many ways. I tried to picture our lives together before we were even engaged; little did I know how soon all that would begin. This roller coaster ride has been thrilling and trying, at times, but never have I had to feel alone. You gave me a confidant, a fellow believer, a best friend, all in yourself. You gave me a home, a family, a beautiful son, and the best of reasons to want my life to move forward. 

Until we got married, I was filled with doubts, though never about you or my love for you. I worried that I would never be enough: good enough, kind enough, solid enough to be a good wife and a good mother. I had many of those doubts through the first year of Gabriel’s life. You helped me to become someone I didn’t know I could be until you had faith in me. There are still moments when I have zero belief in my capabilities as a human being, much less a mother. It’s good to know that when I slip up, I have my partner in crime to back me up.

I know you hate being away and missing all the new experiences Gabriel has. He’s not quite old enough to help me write you emails yet, but I always make sure he knows how much his Daddy loves him. Before we got married, I hugely doubted the efficacy of fathers. I didn’t have a lot of great examples. But your dad gives me great hope, and watching you with our son makes me sure that he’ll always be supported by all of his family. You have no idea how much your steadiness and understanding mean to me.

God, this is when wearing glasses is a pain in the ass. I’m not the easiest person to deal with a lot of the time. My emotions can be erratic and unpredictable, and I know you don’t always know how to handle it. But you have put so much effort into understanding me and made changes based on my needs, and I appreciate that so much. Marriage is work, and I know sometimes you work harder than I do. I couldn’t ask for a better husband, and I really, really mean that.

Every year that goes by is different from the last. Each one is marked by different joys and sorrows, experiences and periods of stagnancy. In all of it, we continue to grow and add to the history of our lives together. We really do have one of those kind of fairy tale stories in a lot of ways. We have defied statistics and expectations, and we get the chance every day to prove to ourselves how right this is. I know that every day I get some kind of reminder how no one could be more perfect for me, not ever. 

I miss you. I love you. Every day more than the last, I love you. Some days I fall, some days I walk downhill, and sometimes I fly straight downwards, further into the endless ocean of love you have filled my life with. No matter what’s thrown at us, that fact won’e ever change, only become more true.

Always yours,
Markie