poets; irwin

iii.

as ashton walked up to the stage that tuesday, it was not like all the other tuesdays.

today, he looked straight at her the entire time. as he began to recite his written words, his gaze did not break.

"whatever you’re feeling right now there is a mathematical certainty that someone else is feeling that exact thing. 

this is not to say you’re not special

this is to say thank god you aren’t special"

penelope knew, this was a response to her own poem.

"i have kissed no one good night

i have launched myself from tall places and hoped no one would catch me. 

i have ended relationships because suddenly i was also exposed

 isolation is not safety, it is death."

she heard his words speaking directly into her ears, as if the curly haired boy was sitting right next to her.

"if no one knows you’re alive, you aren’t. 

if a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it, it does make a sound but then that sound is gone.

i’m not saying you will find the meaning of life in other people,

i'm saying other people are the life to which you provide the meaning,

see we’re wrong when we say, i think therefore i am.

the more we say it the more it sounds like, i think therefore i will be.

and what has it gotten me, but more thoughts.

a currency that only buys more currency,

so please, if you want to continue existing do something 

learn to make clouds using only your breath

build a house even if every wall leans to the left, love it anyway

just like a season, just like a child"

how dare he? he has no right to this.

"love how you hate yourself sometimes because goddamn at least there’s still something to hate 

i know how easy it is to think and keep thinking until you’re the last person left on earth

until the entire world becomes no larger than the space between your bed and the light switch

but, i hear the world is ending soon.

when we go, and we’re all going to go

I will be part of it."

everyone was clapping and she was frozen until she couldn't handle his stare. she rushed out of the small cafe and was met with the cold winter air. so cold, she felt as if her tears would freeze onto her cheeks.

this was the first real chapter that plays into the plot i have because now they're finally communicating by way of poems yay

poet of the day is neil hilborn  ((again, i know)) video on side