http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_ot40bp9M241w7s53yo1.mp3?plead=please-dont-download-this-or-our-lawyers-wont-let-us-host-audio
https://varilae.tumblr.com/post/168255377809/audio_player_iframe/varilae/tumblr_ot40bp9M241w7s53y?audio_file=http%3A%2F%2Fa.tumblr.com%2Ftumblr_ot40bp9M241w7s53yo1.mp3

rannulfr:

suburban-justice:

midnightvintage:

fromanotherroom:

La Vie En Rose playing from another room
Edith Piaf

Me standing on a gorgeous stone balcony outside of a grand ballroom, breathing in some fresh air because the fumes of the champagne and the loud joyous noise gave me slight sensory overload. The wind beautifully moves my gown.

me dissociating in the waffle house off some highway at 1 AM after poppin a dime in the record machine in 2017

Dearest Annie
(Otherwise known as sleeping past breakfast.)

I’ve been trying to talk to you, but I get addled… I figured since we talked this way for so long it might be easier to write you, even from the living room.

Annie… There was fanfare when the war ended. It was as though the whole of the country had become a string-trap while we were away, full of dangling pots and pans, cymbals and wind chimes. The noise outlived the confetti and the streamers by three days or more.

After… It was the silence that was deafening. We were still picking little sopping bits of happy paper from the gutter when the truth fell down in much the same way.
“Have you seen Jim Dowager?”, “When was the last time you saw Mike?”
“I heard the krauts got old William FitzRoy.”, “Did my husband go easy?” “Did my boy cry out for his Momma?”

It’s been three months and you can tell a serviceman from a civvy by the look he gives you. The thing no one wants to talk about is fairly summed up in a glance. That resignation that says “We are accountable because we are here… And they are not…” 
Someone calls you a hero and you could snap your cap, but the fight’s been fought. There’s an unease that settles when the word is thrown around. Again because we are here… And they are not.

But that morning light catches the dust and the wind blows it like prayers past the curtain. That wind is sweet as sun tea and soft as kisses and it is free. 
There’s still work to be done, but it’s work for someone else.
I’m living that confetti lifespan, I fell from home into a barbed wire gutter and now I’m floating free into the open ocean. 

You’re my horizon Annie, I can feel you like music from another room.

I’m home.