"When you're lovers in a dangerous time."

[underthemilkywaysittingonth-blog]

She fell in love with the billposter, her mailbox always full, grass never cut in time, smiles like a cannon blast

never fits her shoes, just rightmakes mad dash

pumpkin patch invious

the sky is red again

hear the trombones,

this is the end

of you and i

you and i.

she swim with the alligators, in her room, drift with the leopards, sunday afternoon. Saw her smile, in the way the flowers

shiver themselves gone.

break free from the ground,

wilt away

withering gone,

water drained,

gone.you and iare done.

[objetpetita]

I exist only in the soles of my feet and in the tired muscles of my thighs. We have been walking for hours it seems. But where? I cannot remember.

Virginia Woolf, The Waves

[thequotejournals]

I am a series of small victories and large defeats…

Charles Bukowski, “The People Look Like Flowers At Last” (via wordsnquotes)

[luthienne]

Vèn, che m'uccide, un sottil pensero, a subtle thought came killing me,

Guido Cavalcanti, from The Complete Poems; “La forte e nova mia disaventura” (tr. Marc Cirigliano)

[schuylerpeck]

There were summers I’d never thought I’d make it here. It’s Thursday night and he’s fixing dinner; pasta simmering on the stove and garlic bread toasting in the oven. We drift in and out of conversation, but leave kisses on each other’s shoulders and write love poems on the bathroom mirror. I am no longer the moon chasing the sun. We rest our bones by each other’s sides. I wake to see the freckles still there on his skin, his eyelashes fluttering under the deep wave of dreams. I no longer fear not finding love, or never knowing enough of it. It’s right here: curled up in our comforter and breathing easy. I think I belong here.

Schuyler Peck (via schuylerpeck)

[underthemilkywaysittingonth-blog]

And now, in keeping with Channel 40's policy of always bringing you the latest in blood and guts, in living color, you're about to see another first - an attempted suicide."

[underthemilkywaysittingonth-blog]

Woman suffering from acute melancholia; H. Clarke, 1869

[notacliche]

“We ruined ourselves- I have never honestly thought that we ruined each other.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald in a letter written to Zelda Fitzgerald, 1930 (via notacliche)

[normajeaned]

Marilyn Monroe photographed by Ed Cronenweth, 1948.

[purplebuddhaproject]

[underthemilkywaysittingonth-blog]

[stckwll]

we could have been so much more

[regular-love]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

We spent years somehow in the minutes we found:

Anna B. Sutton, from “Carolina/Tennessee,” Brevity: A Journal of Concise Literary Nonfiction (no. 48, Winter 2015)

[infinitemarilynmonroe]

Marilyn Monroe photographed by Bert Stern, 1962.

[underthemilkywaysittingonth-blog]

Incipit: Your eyes illuminated, you stared at me as if I could melt the sun. I had never felt so beautiful. Sneaking last glances in the fleeting encounters. I craved to be close to you, watch how the colours blended in your eyes. I never thought it’d be you. Sitting so close I could find a rhythm to your heartbeat. I had never felt so safe, with my hands in the air on the back of your motorcycle. Stopping and crashing into you. I knew it was on purpose, we were never close enough. The countless nights, we’d meet at the window, I think deep down those are the nights I knew I could love you, the day you stopped and watched lightning flashing, I knew I could fall in love with to repeatedly. “What could we ever have in common, right? ” For a brief moment, everything. For a brief moment, nothing. I loved you as authentic as an uncaputured sunset. The day you stopped loving me, was the day lightning finally won. I knew I could never be that ablaze again. A long time you loved me, wildly, madly, endlessly. I will never feel so beautiful again.

[wnq-writers]

I knew her two days. I loved her for three.

saintly-sinner (via wnq-writers)