February 2012
33 posts
1 tag
“contiguous, adj.
I felt silly for even mentioning it, but once I did, I knew I...”
– The Lover’s Dictionary, David Levithan
1 tag
1 tag
“At night, I open the window
and ask the moon to come
and press its face...”
– Rumi (via cigrette)
1 tag
1 tag
1 tag
“I don’t know, there’s something about you. Say there’s an hourglass: the sand’s...”
– Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase
1 tag
“I love everything about this little street. The lives that used to be lived...”
– Prague, Arthur Phillips
1 tag
“It persistently rises to the surface of your memory — that afternoon when...”
– Prague, Arthur Phillips
1 tag
“‘Some days,’ Mammy said in a hoarse voice, ‘I listen to that...”
– A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini
1 tag
trying-to-find-the-inbetween:
The most beautiful...
1 tag
“The flesh is easy to satisfy. It’s the heart that is insatiable, the heart that...”
– Irène Némirovsky, Fire in the Blood, p. 127 (via intracoastal-wanderings)
1 tag
“I desired always to stretch the night and fill it fuller and fuller with dreams.”
– Virginia Woolf (via acraeus)
1 tag
coffeeislovely:
Night Bus (Acoustic) -Lucy Rose
ranchdressingroom:
When I think about books I touch my shelf.
i smell your kisses on my hands i swear it — i can could map the pores from your face and the outline of your lips within my fingerprints your breath just a breath away
1 tag
1 tag
“In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni … We go wandering at night and are...”
– Latin palindrome (via hateshiploveship)
am i supposed to feel sorry for myself? as if i do not know what is wrong and i should pity how lowly that feels? because i do not know what is wrong and i do feel this pathetic ambiguity but that must not keep you from shying away, does it? i try. i tell you, i beg you to listen. i am trying. when someone strays from the trail, most often they become lost, correct? i have not lingered an inch...
i feel like i am divided by sections thin parts of me dotted black lines sometimes connecting sometimes not
if there was a word for a whole body phrenology i would like it to describe me maybe i like the word “cavles”
feel my lump there what does it mean to you? see a crevice, no you don’t all i see are sinking concavenesses
1 tag
when one steps out naked in the dead of winter and the wind rushes toward them as if billions of ice particles were stabbing at their’s skin and they feels it penetrate through their pores, hoping it would not come out the other side of their body because then they would know they are solid.
He and I alway had to physically touch, as if we were afraid we were going to lose each other. Me clutching a bit of his shirt, his hand around my waist, fingers rubbing elbows. I needed to feel him, we were so insecure about that. If I wasn’t in his sight and I wasn’t touching him, he would wildly turn around and search for me even if I was right behind him. We were like a stub of a...
1 tag
he doesn’t mind standing in the kiddie pool, waiting for me to overflow my shallow mud with something more cleansing, like minted water. peppermint tea. apple juice. a new personality. he doesn’t mind because he doesn’t know me and everything is slightly bizarre but happy in the first couple months and i am not scared to wait for him to find out i am not happy and i won’t...
i’m not tired, but my hurt is tied to my ankles and drags along wherever i go like in that old movie i saw, where a little black boy was dragged by a car with the rope around his neck. i want to cry. can i say i should be happy? can i say i think of burrowing under large cites and creating a gaping hole that collapses all the buildings, all the cars and sidewalks and benches and litter and...
1 tag
1 tag
“Today you became a yesterday, when once you were a tomorrow.”
– I Wrote This For You
1 tag
“It’s like counting the number of tiles on the ceiling or the stars in the sky....”
– Charley Brooke
1 tag
“Something real, cool and solid lies before you; something unromantic as Monday...”
– Charlotte Bronte, Shirley (via trua)
veiled
chambered in a lock
body moulds
to the shape of the keyhole
touch jagged edges
sit alone in an hourglass
let it rain
someone’s markered your words
all over the floor
thank goodness you are skating
on a whiteboard
and your feet laced to dry erasers
To be honest, I don’t know how it feels to die.
Puncture with a needle, intended for the threading bag but veered off course like a lion suddenly spotting a wounded zebra. See if there is enough power to stitch the hand up, if there is no pain. Is there? There is, but keep going anyway. Flesh, blood, human. Aliveness. Feel something other than the garbage inside, meant to be thrown out but too ghastly to even be near it. It has been too long....
January 2012
60 posts
He has to lean in close to hear, never straying more than two feet away from me. His ear outstretched as if holding my voice. My whispers his seashells; his heart — baboom, baboom, baboom.
Because there are more places and towns and cities that I haven’t breathed in than there are spots on my body you haven’t touched (like my blood vessels and stomach and lungs and ovaries, well maybe you’ve touched that, but I can tell you for a fact you’ve never touched my brain, or the part of my ear that keeps me in balance, or the things you can’t physically touch,...
the first time a boy has ever used the term “like-like” on me and meant it, the sincere genuine falter of his voice leaning with him against the wall, trying to be confident yet lacking the experience.
1 tag
kimburrit0:
oh gungor <3
1 tag
you are precisely my cup of tea.
1 tag
4 tags
What if someone made a paper-mâché mould of me, as if one of those projects little children are forced to ask their parents to help them create for their class, what if someone touched me with their fingers and spread out sheets and sheets of newspapers all over my body and lathered me with glue, what if I became the balloon and took a pin to my head (what a lovely phrase, a pin to my head —...
3 tags
Sometimes I feel my head is stuffed with crumpled up pieces of paper and if someone were to light a match and touch it to my hair, I would burn quickly and quietly.
6 tags
“you’re my favourite,” he says in a low voice and kneels beside me and i dwindle off my seat. i promised myself i would be good, that these knees would be the braces of my body, that to bend would repel my compass. he beckons me to come closer and i notice for the first time those dimples that inveigle my bones to turn toward him, to become one merging blob under an infrared heat...
6 tags
i will blink, because it is a voluntary action, and also an involuntary action. i will blink because i choose to, not because i have to. have i really ever felt as silenced as when no one was around to hush me? when i want to say something to the air and it closes on my windpipes, when i want to cry and the dust squeezes back beneath my eyelids. i only cry at night, when i am dreaming. they say...
5 tags
because i try and explain all that i am and there really are no words for what i feel, this nostalgic, uncomfortable uneasiness that starts in my abdomen when i am laying in my bed and my body shakes as if the world is turning in an erratic rotation and because there are no words i have to make them up but they sound more like whimpers than anything, a whiny pathetic sound. i can act what i feel,...
1 tag
“How nice— to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.”
– Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five
1 tag
“Don’t you think it’s better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you...”
– Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler’s Wife
1 tag
“‘This is my suicide dress,’ she told him. ‘I only wear it on days when I’m...”
– Denver Butson (via trua)
1 tag
“I once read that a prisoner who was denied pencil and paper wrote sentences on...”
– Just A Memory Without Anywhere to Stay « Betsy Lerner (via leopoldgursky)
1 tag
“I read like the flame reads the wood.”
– Alfred Doblin (via whatokay)
1 tag
“I feel too much. That’s what’s going on.’ ‘Do you think one can feel too much?...”
– Jonathan Safran Foer (via blastedamericansoul)