Scintillating agony

I'll vent my soul out to you if we aren't careful

[heartbreakhur]

[liquidlightandrunningtrees]

Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn’t explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love?

Jonathan Safran Foer (via liquidlightandrunningtrees)

[balmain-vogue]

[girlinlondon]

Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.

Jack Kerouac (via girlinlondon)

[stability]

[20aliens-deactivated20200625]

[melisica]

[scintillatingagony]

[heaping-cup-of-shut-up-deactiva]

[karolinaone]

[still--getting--there]

[surfandwrite]

You burned your name into my throat the first time our tongues touched.

Sade Andria Zabala | excerpt from Pill Head

*please don’t remove my name

(via surfandwrite)

[toremyheartout]

[t4kemetonewyork-deactivated2012]

[wordsnquotes]

It just happens to be the way that I’m made. I have to write things down to feel I fully comprehend them.

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via wordsnquotes)

[designaddictmom]

[bostonpoetryslam]

Who said poems were enough? Who said they weren’t?

Justine el-Khazen, for Amy King’s “Young Poets Bare All: What Is a Culture?” (via hereticnarrative)