“I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?” — Haruki Murakami
Skin meeting skin, we want to think we know each other scientifically; we want to believe it is objective knowledge gives this conviction of intimacy, makes us say it feels so right. That mole below your shoulder blade, the soft hair over my thighs— we examine our bodies with the precision known only to lovers or surgeons, all those whose profession is...
mild panic attack
“Nobody would dare look at himself in the mirror, because a grotesque, tragic image would mix in the contours of his face with stains and traces of blood, wounds which cannot be healed, and unstoppable streams of tears. I would experience a kind of voluptuous awe if I could see a volcano of blood, eruptions as red as fire and as burning as despair, burst into the midst of the comfortable and...
“Bodies have their own light which they consume to live: they burn, they are not lit from outside.” —Egon Schiele
“‘I still care for you, you know’ That phrase again. Everyone cares for me. They just don’t know how to love me.” —from “Glass” by Ellen Hopkins (p. 574) (via ontheedgeofdarkness)
“Anyway this is just a note to tell you I’m in a new shell or an old one, like a hermit crab and the ink is now out of two of my pens and this is the last one. I have no more ink in the house tonight. I’ll keep you posted.” - John Steinbeck, in a letter to Pascal Covici, September 1948 bye bye for a little bit.
The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this, is the same moment when the trees unloose their soft arms from around you, the birds take back their language, the cliffs fissure and collapse, the air moves back from you like a wave and you...
“We assume we know what things mean and what people think for the simple reason that we do not really care. But as soon as we have a real desire to know, as the jealous man has, we are faced with a dizzy kaleidoscope in which we can make out nothing.” — Marcel Proust (via fuckyeahproust)
Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift. —Mary Oliver (via serialstranger)
jesus christ. people just need to stop using every single online community as an alternate dating website. seriously.
Hunger Strike Strange how we do not alter ourselves to fit the dimensions of this room in order to fill it completely. Through the years, the floor, which is also a wall, has been hiding our tracks. The invisible tracks lead out to the yard where the grass is impossibly overgrown. We can grow up, you see, learn new words, read more books, fall in love more often than necessary. Then perhaps,...
rabbit-light: Connubial Because with alarming accuracy she’d been identifying patterns I was unaware of—this tic, that tendency, like the way I’ve mastered the language of intimacy in order to conceal how I felt— I knew I was in danger of being terribly understood. Stephen Dunn
poemendings: Lust is grief that has turned over in bed to look the other way. - Donald Hall