One Day More

25. "How fragile we are, between the few good moments.”

[defunctionblog-deactivated20241]

#alright bye #to the shiny droid i go

[bladesrunner]

Hey, go on. That’s who you belong with. He’s one of your kind. THE MANDALORIAN | Chapter 16: The Rescue

[bestintheparsec]

Chapter 16 | THE RESCUE

[larmoyante]

“She used to suffer these intense bouts of homesickness in her own bedroom. When she was very small, she would wake up tearing at her bedspread and shrieking, “I wanna go home! I wanna go home!” Which was distressing to all of us, of course, because she was home.”

— Karen Russell, St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves

[wishbzne-deactivated20210526]

plainwater: essays and poetry — the interviews (III), anne carson

[thestrokesargentinafans]

The Strokes 2020

[alliebringsthepop]

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“I do not really know whether I have survived. My inner self has shut itself up more and more. As though to protect itself, it has become inaccessible even to me,”

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Elisabeth Schenck wr. c. January 1919

[doramilaje]

The Mandalorian | Chapter Four: “Sanctuary”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore. And yet I cannot let it go. I cannot let it go.”

— Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Ruth Tiffanny Beuscher written c. July 1962

[robertdowneyjjr]

“Helen Rose having a consultation with Dr. Dolittle.“ || bethostern @ ig

[litvar]

Y’all I about DIED. 

[lifeinpoetry]

I want to stay on the back porch while the world tilts toward sleep, until what I love misses me, and calls me in.

— Dorianne Laux, from “On the Back Porch,” Only As the Day Is Long: New and Selected Poems

[asbeingofgreatprice]

[intraducibile-deactivated202008]

“Everything you did not understand / has made you what you are.”

— Charles Simic, from That Little Something: Poems; “Evening Talk,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“Somewhere I had lost someone– so dear or so great or so fine that I never cared again: as if time dimmed, and color and sound were gone.”

— William Stafford, from “Looking Across the River,” The Darkness Around Us Is Deep: Selected Poems, ed. Robert Bly (HarperPerenial, 1993)

[odairannies]