Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

I am proud of how far I have come, but pride doesn’t erase the scars that are left behind

[vexheart]

[the-fool-and-the-hermit]

I watched God blow the leaves off the trees.

They scattered like frightened birds,

skittered across the ground toward me,

and all I could think of was you.

It’s fall now,

and you’re still gone.

The air tastes like rust and endings,

and every gust carries your name

in broken syllables I can’t quite catch.

The house has learned to echo softly,

as if afraid to wake me.

I keep the light on by the window,

a small sun burning for your return,

and sit where I can hear the wind

pretend to be your footsteps.

Like a dog, I wait by the door,

tail of hope curled tight around my heart,

listening for the sound of keys,

the rustle of your coat,

the mercy of your voice.

I’ve worn a hollow in the floorboards

from pacing the same prayer,

come home,

come home,

come home.

And when the wind rises again,

rattling the leaves against the porch,

I almost believe

it’s you scratching to be let in.

[lunamonchtuna]

— Uma Thurman (via lunamonchtuna)

[amoreuxi-deactivated20251202]

my final act of love is the crossing of the street

[somewordsarebiggerthanothers]

[girlfictions]

Mary Oliver, Moments

[frodothefair]

The Song of Heruwine and Tawarien

[oditorie]

[bloodcharmer]

[onthelearningtongue]

[somewordsarebiggerthanothers]

[darjunaearth]

My sacred space. My solitude~The étude of my soul, as I call it.🌹🪶

[mournfulroses]

Catherynne M. Valente, from her novel titled "The Melancholy of a Mechagirl," originally published in 2023

[letmebethecure]

The sound of him haunted me

Not in a way that begged to be dismissed

But iin a way that invited the dead into my bed

The cold frost of his breath

A lifeline

Like two dying embers colliding

He was the only thing keeping me alive…

Until he wasn’t

[neckkiss]

HEAVEN IS HELL

[perfectfeelings]

“One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds.”

— Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

[putaind3merde]

[mournfulroses]

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written c. September 1929, featured in Selected Diaries

[zandrapaints]

there’s always a new day // watercolor, gouache & ink on paper