it's not that deep

[blossomfully]

After the fire, I sit in the ashes of  our love. Your hands are burned, and  your mouth  is frozen. The words that came out of  our haze are  still hanging in the air.  We let them hang;  flow into out bloodstream. Invade our lungs.  Sting our eyes.  “This isn’t working…” is like a toxic gas.  I wish the walls would swallow me. But I have to be here. “I love you,” I  almost say. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.“  It feels so trivial.  So small; insignificant.  “Things start to die when love becomes trivial” I  want to say. But I don’t.  Silence maintains a little hope.  “Love was supposed to save us,” the words  float into the air.  “How has it become our  destruction?”

Sue Zhao (via blossomfully)

[yourhandwrittenletter]

I fall in love too much. Too easily. Just like that. The boy on the subway, flipping fingers through a copy of some Shakespeare drama or the one in tight kaki pants who covers my coffee when I leave my wallet at home. The tallest guy in the office who talks about sports in the break room as I nod along. I fall in love with what they might be. Could be. The kind that slips his hand into my back pocket or calls me by my last name. Who’s stricken every time I enter the room. Astonished. I fall in love like this. With strangers and possibilities. With abandon, stupidity. With hope. I fall in love too much. Too easily. But maybe you do, too. Maybe we all do.

yourhandwrittenletter (via yourhandwrittenletter)

[loveactivist]

I wanna know what it’s like to dive straight off a roof and into my grave. I wanna know what’s it’s like to sink to the very bottom of the ocean and be where the sun can’t reach. I wanna know what it’s like to be in the night sky and be surrounded by stars I can’t reach. I wanna know if you would notice me leaving.

- excerpt from a book I’ll never write #37 // @loveactivist (via loveactivist)

[quoted-books]

Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write yourself. Your body must be heard.

Héléne Cixious, The Laugh of the Medusa (via quoted-books)

[stoicremains-deactivated2017102]

The beauty of literature lies in its desire to be everything–and not in a sterile quest for beauty.

Jean-Paul Sartre, from “The Purpose of Writing” Between Existentialism and Marxism (via stoicremains)

[stillbirthed]

1 A woman wears a blue dress. It is Sunday. Red cardinals sing along the sill. She cuts her neck with an electric carving knife. A woman is blue. She is red. She wears the Sunday blues. Carves cardinals into an electric red dress. Her neck sings electric. Sunday wears on. A knife sings before it cuts. On the sill, Sunday carves the necks of cardinals. Knives wear red. Sunday dresses along the sill. Sing said the cardinal. Sing said the knife. A woman is electric. Her neck is a sill. Cardinal sing the Sunday reds in her electric neck. A woman is a carving. A woman is a knife. A woman.

[arterialtrees]

Simone Muench

[linconstante-deactivated2018121]

It is unpleasant to be caught writing. It is an act of intimacy.

Le Journal Intime, histoire et anthologie, Philippe Lejeune & Catherine Bogaert (via linconstante)

[thelovejournals]

The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went.

Virginia Woolf, Orlando (via thelovejournals)

[eveninglesbian-deactivated20180]

You are twenty. You are not dead, although you were dead. The girl who died. And was resurrected. Children. Witches. Magic. Symbols. Remember the illogic of the fantasy.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via eveninglesbian)

[thelovejournals]

I’m your girl,’ she said in the dark. ‘Your girl. No matter what I’m always your girl.

Ernest Hemingway, The Garden Of Eden (via calines)

[trustissued]

1. In my dreams we’re walking along the edge of the universe. My love for you, the sun. Time isn’t real here; there’s only us. Forever.  but then again, my dreams aren’t real either. And forever doesn’t exist. 2. Sunsets still remind me of you, and i’m still convinced you’re the one who makes the sky blush every time. But it’s been raining ever since you left. All i ever wanted was to watch a sunrise through sunset with you.  3. We’re together in every universe. We’re happy in every reality. I’m so sick and tired of all these parallel universes playing out in my head where we’re together. 4. I wanted to love you so much, the scars they left on your heart would start to fade until i realized scars don’t fade no matter how much you try. 5. Today my friend asked me “how many fucking times do you think of him?” and i said “once” because ever since i met you, you haven’t left my mind. I guess i should’ve known i left yours long ago.

Lessons on loving you  (via trustissued)

[quotablewomen]

what the hell is tragedy? I am.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals; p. 203 (via readingsylviaplath)

[fyp-philosophy]

Because she competes with no one, no one can compete with her.

Lao Tzu, Verse 66 (via fyp-philosophy)

[meanwhilepoetry]

Why do you always chase after half loves, darling? Is it because you do not understand that you deserve someone who loved you in full? Or because you do not believe it?

Nikita Gill (via meanwhilepoetry)

[bled]

[bled]

[sageofstars]

I wish I could write about fields of lilacs Not the bodies And I wish I could write about majestic sea-whales Not their bodies Filled with parcels of our food tablets Let me make an overbold Sure to be foolish in 20 years statement at 24 A poet’s job should be to write what must not be written What burns your eyes when cast into the light Because you’ve been waiting to hear this your whole life, “Friend, I was walking down the street and heard the wind say this and thought I should let you know. ‘The earth is dying And I am dying And everyone needs you To write about lavender instead.’"

“Lavender instead” by Ben Aaron (via thebookofblueletters)