liddell tales

He saw her once, and in the glance

A moment's glance of meeting eyes,

His heart stood still in sudden trance

He trembled with a sweet surprise-

All in the waning light she stood

The star of perfect womanhood

That summer eve his heart was light

With lighter step he trod the ground

And life was fairer in his sight

And music was in every sound

He blessed the world where there could be

So beautiful a thing as she

There once again, as evening fell

And stars were peering overhead,

Two lovers met to bid farewell:

The western sun gleamed faint and red

Lost in a drift of purple cloud

That wrapped him like a funeral shroud

Long time the memory of that night-

The hand that clasped, the lips that kissed,

The form that faded from his sight

Slow sinking through the tearful mist -

In dreamy music seemed to roll

Through the dark chambers of his soul.

from "The Three Sunsets", Lewis Carroll

All from my flickr.

meet me in our secret place

I can't even fathom how much I miss England, London, Leeds.
For whatever reason I thought it would be a good idea to look through my old photos, and I found them (is it considered finding when you know exactly where to look?) in a folder hidden inside a folder hidden inside another folder, so as not to accidentally come across it while searching for something else in the maze that is my hard-drive.
Suddenly I find it hard to breathe, like my chest is about to cave in any second now, a knot tightening inside my stomach, palms starting to sweat, memories flooding and flowing through my mind; I try my best not to grasp, cling, hold onto them. Ride it out. Just let them slip away. I find myself wondering if my eyes have changed since then, and I realize that my finger suddenly feels light, empty; there used to be a ring on it, always, and now it feels wrong, and I'm starting to panic, and the more I think about it, the worse it feels, and I'm just about ready to chop it off to get rid of this phantom sensation, and my heart aches; it misses, it longs, it craves.

Somewhere on a bench in Hyde Park, our initials are carved.

It's not even so much that I miss him, but the places, the feelings, the lightness of it all, the vividness, the safety, feeling at home. I haven't thought about any of this in so long, so long, and it's overwhelming, and I find myself wondering if I'll ever experience anything like it, ever again. A life where nothing and everything mattered, with no tomorrow to worry about, a calm place to rest, a shelter from the storm, a home. I swore never again, but what does that matter, anyway?

(I knew this wasn't a good idea.)

Jag har varit i alla städer

The last couple of days have been easier, lighter; though hardly without trouble.

This morning was simply perfect; I had a cup of tea and read the latest part of a particularly intriguing Sherlock fanfic (here on LJ for those who care), while the sun peeked through my blinds and the birds were singing. I'm feeling.. a sense of peace, perhaps?

Now I'm reading Eliot's The Waste Land, while the breeze from my window is tickling my bare feet.

Oh spring, how I have missed thee!

I will only let you down, but my door is always open..

Spent most of the night bawling over Sherlock fanfics.

I find myself longing for someone to lay next to, someone to keep me from nightmares, someone who will hold my hand to calm me when I'm anxious, and whisper sweet nothings in my ear as we're falling asleep. Someone to wake up next to, sunlight pouring in through the blinds, and into my heart. Someone to keep me safe. For now, I'll put on my biggest flannel shirt and curl up in bed, just trying to breathe, hoping to dream of better things.

I hate intimacy, but it's far worse having nothing at all, sometimes.

#Making a Sherlock/John fanmix.