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@sophianotsophie
āItās not that I canāt fall in love. Itās really that I canāt help falling in love with too many things all at once. So, you must understand why I canāt distinguish between whatās platonic and what isnāt, because itās all too much and not enough at the same time.ā
ā Jack Kerouac
āif there is a light then i am going to swallow it. if there is a god then iām going to make him cry.ā
ā s. osborn, fromĀ āblasphemies at the 5th street station,ā published in The Rising Phoenix Review (via lifeinpoetry)
āI felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.ā ā Jack Kerouac
Life is not always a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, playing a poor hand well.
Jack London (via oxcroft)
Iāve stopped being sorry for all my soft. I wonāt apologise because I miss you, or because I said it, or because I text you first, or again. I think everyone spends too much time trying to close themselves off. I donāt want to be cool or indifferent, I want to be honest. If I love you at 5AM, Iād damn well rather that you know I felt it. If I love you two hours later, Iāll tell you then too. Listen, I wonāt wait double the time it takes for you to text me back because I donāt want to. I donāt care enough to be patient with you. Iām happy, you made me feel that way, donāt you want to know? So thatās how itās going to be. Iām going to leave myself as open as a church door. And Iām going to wake you up before the crack of dawn to tell you that Iām fucking joyful, no pretending, not from me, not ever. Would you like some coffee, would you please kiss me? Here, these are my hands, this is my mouth, it is all yours.
Azra.T āDonāt Wait Three Days to Text First.ā (via goodquoteco)
Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.
Richard Silken, Crush (via liquidlightandrunningtrees)
Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: youāre falling to the floor crying thinking, āI am falling to the floor crying,ā but thereās an element of the ridiculous to it ā you knew it would happen and, even worse, while youāre on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didnāt paint it very well.
richard S I L K E N (via asloversdrown)
Iām sorry. I tried to stay good, but the unbearable happened. Listen. Do you hear that?Ā Someone left the stove on. The door wide open. My heart is a a bruise no one will touch; I flinch anyway. The poem outlasts the one it was written for. Almost every time. Listen. Iām sorry. I couldnāt save everyone, so I had to leave the way I did. There was no other way. For what itās worth,Ā my alone wasnāt kind to me. It knew its birth meant something elseās burial.Ā Grief like that never goes quiet.Ā When the floodgates opened, I searched for a word for the end of missing someone; Every language came up empty.
Y.Z, a burial of citiesĀ (via rustyvoices)
IN THE FIRST LIFE we are reckless. we are fire and fang and blade. we run through parking lots after dark and dance in highway traffic. we are too deathless for our own good. we arenāt gods but we could be. IN THE SECOND LIFE we catch handfuls of light in your basement and drink it like holy water. we pretend it tastes like peaches. we pretend it fills us up. IN THE THIRD LIFE we are punch-drunk and high on our own drowning. we laugh and say weāre masochists, say weāre just fine getting knocked around. we flaunt our bruises and call them beauty. IN THE FOURTH LIFE our bones start to show. your hair starts to fall out and my teeth begin to shatter. we keep pretending we donāt see anything. IN THE FIFTH LIFE you tell me for the first time that you donāt like the way things are going, that maybe youād be better off fifty feet down in the atlantic. i say iām coming with you and we laugh/gasp/choke until we can call this a joke. IN THE SIXTH LIFE the ache is still nameless so we quietly paint over it. we bleed our way through the months and leave stains all over the carpet. IN THE SEVENTH LIFE you send me a text that says do you think this is how eden felt, so holy and then so damned? i tell you i think so and we go back to radio silence. IN THE EIGHTH LIFE the world we used to rule is finished burning. we donāt talk about heaven anymore. we donāt talk about how we used to be bodies of grace. IN THE NINTH LIFE we are so different from what we used to be that we hardly recognize ourselves. we are the farthest thing from heavenly. we donāt fight death, we let it take us.
NINE LIVES // sarah kate o. (via allthesinkingships)
just musing
What poetry has taught me is that if a tree falls in a forest and thereās no one around to cry for it the other trees will learn how to. In the wake of another splintering they will say, I see you. I too am growing sideways.
POETRY AS COMMUNITY by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
You came to me while we were sleeping, we were both sleeping, and you asked me to hold this for you. I am holding this for you.
Richard SikenĀ (via kdecember)
Loving someone who cannot love you the same way in return is not weakness. Itās one of the most courageous things youāll ever do. You are putting your armour at their feet and you are saying āI will not fight you in this. I have loved you and that means that I have already won.
Azra T. (via quotemadness)
He knew me by heart. It infuriated me that he knew me by heart.
Notes from UndergroundĀ by Fyodor Dostoevsky (via drearydoll)
most importantly love like itās the only thing you know how at the end of the day all this means nothing this page where youāre sitting your degree your job your money nothing even matters except love and human connection who you loved and how deeply you loved them how you touched the people around you and how much you gave them
Rupi Kaur, milk and honey (via larmoyante)
