gasping
You feel fine, and then, when your body can't keep fighting, you don't.”
― Nicholas Sparks

forth

tonight i am only the remains of my past self. only the stains of my cry on a pillow sheet. only the marks of hurts i got from biting my own lips, beating my own legs and pinching my own breasts. no one had done something as good as that, treating yourself like an enemy. my father was finding his ax a while ago, planning to kill our neighbor. i cannot do anything about it. about myself. i now start to like these all

-Annie Lee



joecoleman:

Colombia - 2013

littleigor:

you read to heal but then you find lines to break your heart (from Nick Lantz’ How to Travel Alone):

Just days without you and I’ve got
that midnight streetlight tan,
that Big Chug Jug caffeine carelessness, that one loose
toll booth tooth, these highway hiccups.

and

There are only two directions in the map
of my life: the way to you, and the way
from you.

fire for fire, we light up.

(via letters-to-nobody)


"I either eat too much or starve myself. Sleep for 14 hours or have insomniac nights. Fall in love very hard or hate passionately. I don’t know what grey is. I never did."
(via hazelhirao)

(Source: hazelhirao, via cigarettesdrugsandpizza)



Klimt’s famous “kiss” on the walls of a devastated building in Syria

psythurisma:

ふなき ちほ さん 写真展「記憶」 by ktakako25 on Flickr.

*sighs* shall i take ab philosophy? :-(





le-entracte:

“Yes, Sylvia died. And already she has been dead too long. She wrote me a few times from England — but always about her life. About her death she was silent. Damn it. And then, maybe — maybe not — it was her business. Everyone runs around condemning her for it and I say: She had a right! After all she had the suicide in her. As I do. As many of us do. But, if we’re lucky, we don’t get away with it and something or someone forces us to live.”

Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait In Letters

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)


"All you really know
is that it hurts here, the way feelings
are bigger than we are, and a woman’s face
in the third-story window, her limp hair
and pots of red geraniums luring you
into her suffering until you’re walking on roads
inscribed in your own body. The maps
you never speak of.
"
Ralph Angel, from “You Are the Place You Cannot Move,” in Exceptions and Melancholies: Poems 1986-2006 (Sarabande Books, 2006)

(Source: apoetreflects, via letters-to-nobody)


"Let me tell you what I do know: I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. The truth is complicated. It’s two-toned, multi-vocal, bittersweet. I used to think that if I dug deep enough to discover something sad and ugly, I’d know it was something true. Now I’m trying to dig deeper. I didn’t want to write these pages until there were no hard feelings, no sharp ones. I do not have that luxury. I am sad and angry and I want everyone to be alive again. I want more landmarks, less landmines. I want to be grateful but I’m having a hard time with it."
Richard Siken (via letters-to-nobody)

(Source: aplethoraofquotations, via letters-to-nobody)


"but i have an infinite tenderness for you. that, i’ll always have. all my life long." 

— blue is the warmest color (2013)

(Source: commovente, via letters-to-nobody)


theme ©