January 2012
31 posts
Your first time out of the country
of your own skin, I didn’t bring a map.
...
– Heather Sommer, Traveler (via grammatolatry)
I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love,
and how you gave me...
– Charles Bukowski (via andwhisper)
Not Finished
dearoldlove:
I’m so sad that distance broke us up—I wasn’t finished.
Although he doesn’t know it yet, she isn’t his real life. But he is...
– Margaret Atwood, The Robber Bride
Someone Around
dearoldlove:
We just kept each other around to have someone around.
Kill me by giving me a grenade
and telling me that it’s your heart.
I don’t...
– 42. it feels like a burden, Shinji Moon (via clavicola)
Your heart and my heart
are very, very old friends.
– Hafiz (via human-voices)
I know exactly how that is. To love somebody who doesn’t deserve it. Because...
– Augusten Burroughs, Running With Scissors (via fleurishes)
so this is the sound of you
here and now whether or not
anyone hears it this...
– W. S. Merwin, from “To the New Year” (via the-final-sentence)
I was so sure my love of you was perfect,
and the light today
reminded me of...
– Michael Ryan, from “In Winter” (via rabbit-light)
December 2011
130 posts
My New Year’s Eve Toast: to all the devils, lusts, passions, greeds, envies,...
– Patricia Highsmith (via misswallflower)
[But the constricted light,
the year closing down on itself with all
the...
– Linda Pastan, from “The Letter” (adapted from soulsublime)
I don’t think I could love you so much if you had nothing to complain of and...
– Boris Pasternak (Doctor Zhivago)
Every heart has its secret sorrows which the world knows not, and oftentimes we...
– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (via misswallflower)
UNDERTOW
criminalwisdom:
by Howie Good Your hands fall helplessly to your sides. All the people you admire are either dead or secretly sad. You feel the undertow of everything that has gone missing. I should have been there with you when the little black flowers broke open. I should have watched for children like the sign said. (Via Riley Dog)
Today I found a scrap of paper
where you’d scrawled your name.
I hate the...
– Charles Jensen, excerpt from Debts (via holdonmagnolia)