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[5000letters]

Forgive me father for I have sinned, I have loved a woman more desperately than I have loved God. I have looked to a woman more reverently than I have the sky. There, in the sulk of her bottom lip, I find myself talking about a heaven that only exists when she is looking at me, father she has not been forged between the dip of my teeth, she is not my rib, or my left side, she is my entire stomach, she is my spine. I have been searching for prayer, father but I have found that I can only say her name Dear God, let me have her Dear God, let her rest with me Dear God, let the sky turn red from how we burn The plum tree in our back garden has withered because I have not seen the sun for five days. I have been worshipping at the cradle of her hips father, she has cleansed me with those hands and those eyes, I do not know how to turn unless it is towards her, I do not know where to go except in her direction.

Azra.T “Take Me to Church” (via 5000letters)

[thisisabsolute-deactivated20160]

“You’ve got to understand, my mother loved me, but I was not meant to exist. She loved me because it would have been more painful not to, like bruising a leg that’s already broken.”

"This is Your Love Story," Lucy Wainger (via thisisabsolute)

[casualwordpunch]

My name is Lucy, which means light. I don't write. Light is sometimes like heat. When I used to go to school, I never showed up on time. I had to run to my first class every morning, and the heat was everywhere, slicking the back of my neck, blinding me in front of the Spanish teacher, whose voice is like the sound that scissor blades make swishing together; blinding me in front of the boy who sits in the front row, second seat from the right: boy with the paint-covered jeans, mermaidic girlfriend, mercurial fingers, long-lost descendant of some English king, and all drug dealers are named James, and I don't write. Sometimes James draws pictures of our Spanish teacher leaning on her desk and sometimes I write circles around her hips which are more succinct than these sentences, and sometimes light is like heat, but there is a reason we all squint in the white white wintertime. Snow like ash falling onto that "unpopulated" island where there are no pens and there are no poets. You can push a boat made of dead trees off the shore. Off the white white sand. The water which is the color of an English king's eyes while he watches his mistress's execution. You can eat things with scales and no one will elect anything of you except to die in the light of the explosion or the heat of the radiation poisoning. You don't want to die. I'm sorry. I don't want to write, either.

Lucy Wainger

[casualwordpunch]

She always knew he was a fiction but believed in him anyway.

Jonathan Safran Foer

[casualwordpunch]

I am impatient with these branches, this light.

Denise Levertov

[casualwordpunch]

Absence, the highest form of presence.

James Joyce

[casualwordpunch]

And I will stay, and I am going to lay down beside you and be good for you.

Marilyn Harker

[casualwordpunch]

What on earth can you do but catch at whatever comes near you, with both your fingers, until your fingers are broken?

Tenessee Williams

[casualwordpunch]

Someone I was could have loved you.

Marty McConnell

[casualwordpunch]

Isn't this history, and aren't we a couple of ruins?

Kenneth Koch

[balenciholla]

She was the kind of girlfriend god gives you young, so you’ll know loss for the rest of your life.

Junot Diaz (via ohdreaming)

[casualwordpunch]

Do you take pride in the hurt? Does it make you feel large and tragic?

John Steinbeck

[casualwordpunch]

Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as understood.

George Orwell

[casualwordpunch]

Lighting more cigarettes, pouring more drinks. It has been a beautiful fight. Still is.

Charles Bukowski

[larmoyante]

You are so good. So good, you’re always feeling so much. And sometimes it feels like you’re gonna bust wide open from all the feeling, don’t it? People like you are the best in the world, but you sure do suffer for it.

Silas House, This is My Heart for You (via larmoyante)

[casualwordpunch]

There's a word in Russian -- it means melancholy -- but not exactly -- it means to love someone but also to pity them.

Sarah Ruhl

[casualwordpunch]

Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.

Maya Angelou