a lot of things,
but mostly,
most sincerely,
I am afraid of
being completely
unraveled by you,
and you finding nothing
you want in here.
written by L.M. Dorsey, She Is Made of Chalk
(via thelovejournals)
(Source: thelovejournals.com, via soracities)
I’m afraid of
a lot of things,
but mostly,
most sincerely,
I am afraid of
being completely
unraveled by you,
and you finding nothing
you want in here.
written by L.M. Dorsey, She Is Made of Chalk
(via thelovejournals)
a lot of things,
but mostly,
most sincerely,
I am afraid of
being completely
unraveled by you,
and you finding nothing
you want in here.
written by L.M. Dorsey, She Is Made of Chalk
(via thelovejournals)
Tonight, I am not small enough to love myself. Tonight, I am staring bare-chested at the moon, asking how it is she learned to glow. Teach me. Render me beautiful. Please, tell me how to be whole–to be complete, even when I never want to be full.
Schuyler Peck, Small
(via roadkill91)
Who will winter my immortality
with me? Who will thaw with me?
Come what may, I shall never trade
the earthly love for the subterranean.
I still have time to turn
into flowers, clay, white-eyed memory …
But while we are mortal, my love, to you
nothing will be denied.
written by Vera Pavlova, “89″ If There is Something to Desire: One Hundred Poems, trans. Steven Seymour
(via aegeane)
with me? Who will thaw with me?
Come what may, I shall never trade
the earthly love for the subterranean.
I still have time to turn
into flowers, clay, white-eyed memory …
But while we are mortal, my love, to you
nothing will be denied.
written by Vera Pavlova, “89″ If There is Something to Desire: One Hundred Poems, trans. Steven Seymour
(via aegeane)
(Source: memoryslandscape, via soracities)
Although
the cricket’s song
has no words,
still,
it sounds like sorrow.
written by from The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu, women of the ancient court of Japan. Translated by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani
(via thousandsacredsweets)
the cricket’s song
has no words,
still,
it sounds like sorrow.
written by from The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu, women of the ancient court of Japan. Translated by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani
(via thousandsacredsweets)
(via soracities)
Maybe, in some distant place, everything is already, quietly, lost. Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear, melting together in a single, overlapping figure. And as we live our lives we discover–drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each–what has been lost. I closed my eyes and tried to bring to mind as many beautiful lost things as I could. Drawing them closer, holding on to them.
written by
written by
Haruki Murakami, from Sputnik Sweetheart
(Alfred A. Knopf, 2001)
(Source: seemoreandmore, via weltenwellen)
