sanctus

you have betrayed yourself for nothing.

[hapless-hollow]

If I could die tonight, or choose to lay in your arms. I would lay in your arms, my love - though death has been my prayer for all of my life.

Helaena C Moon @ http://hapless-hollow.tumblr.com/  (via hapless-hollow)

[sweetestsecrets]

“I am writing this to say/I am not leaving you forever/I am going to get better/and then I’ll come home”

— “Soup Is One Form Of Salt Water” by Heather Christle  (via indigoskyes)

[heavensghost]

Brenna Twohy

[punlovsin]

I love you, and I am afraid of you, and I will never tell you with my true voice, this slow, serious voice, and sad.  That’s why I write you in a language you do not know. You will never read me and you will never know my love.

A.Pizarnik, born on this day (via punlovsin)

[craigslits]

[absolvam]

“Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life. It wasn’t like I didn’t know where all this remembering got you, all that hunger for beauty and astonishing cruelty and ever-present loss.”

— Janet Finch, White Oleander

[heavenlyyshecomes]

“kill me then, slowly, so I may say: I love you more than / I had said before the exodus. I love you. Nothing hurts me, / neither air nor water . . . neither basil in your morning nor / iris in your evening, nothing hurts me after this departure.”

—Agha Shahid Ali, “In the exodus I love you more”, from The Veiled Suite: The Collected Poems of Agha Shahid Ali

[heartshop]

Jean Valentine, ‘The Door:’

[wordspack]

When you wake up from death, you will find yourself in my arms, and I will be kissing you, and I will be crying

Richard Brautigan, if i should die before you do (via wordspack)

[honeysuckledthighs]

When god breathed life into me I am sure I choked on it.

(via honeysuckledthighs)

[weltenwellen]

E.E. Cummings, Complete Poems, 1904-1962

[marci1900]

[soracities]

We were together–all else has long been forgotten by me.

Walt Whitman, from ‘Once I Pass’d Through a Populous City’, Leaves of Grass (Deathbed Edition)

[blueteensclub]

[weltenwellen]

Katherine Arden, The Bear and The Nightingale

[et-in-arkadia]

–Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

[proustitute]

Time forks perpetually toward innumerable futures. In one of them I am your enemy.

Jorge Luis Borges, “The Garden of Forking Paths” from Ficciones, translated by Donald A. Yates (via proustitute)