With Pen and Paper

metamorphesque:

ALT

― Joan Didion, Blue Nights

fatimazainab:

Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

halfof-mysoul:

apoetsparacosm:

when hands touch

and there lies your hand feeling the warmth of their hand, begging you to not put an end on this warmth even if something important comes up.

petaltexturedskies:

Virginia Woolf, The Years

It’s a small log cabin. In a rainy forest.

We hear frogs, a river behind the trees with leaves brushing each other in the wind. There is a whisper of fog tomorrow.

We have a small wood stove inside that I keep lit.

You are reading a book in the corner by the window. It’s a book about a journey through a dream you once had.

The smell of comfort moves through the cabin.

I think my favourite cookies are baking. The kind my mom made during Christmas.

Our dog lays on the rug in front of the fire. And our cat sits on the window sill watching the rain.

I put a record on. It’s the one that played that one time you fell in love.

There are candles flickering on the table. Two chairs. Some dried flowers from the garden in a brass vase.

I would stay there forever with you.

tamsoj:

Charles Bukowski, “hurry slowly,” from Come On In!

Kind eyes. Every time that will get me.

I wonder what you saw.

Seen.

Said.

Said to yourself in my eyes.

Did you get me?

Kind eyes. Kind eyes. Will fool me everytime.

Cause I will love you, Kind eyes.

Madly, deeply. Too soon, Kind eyes.

Kind eyes, when I drown will you pull me up?

No, Kind eyes. Too busy looking kind. Too busy looking. Too busy to be kind.

Kind eyes. Kind eyes keeps me below water. Kind eyes knows that if I can’t breathe I won’t look too closely.

Kind eyes knows that I’ll mistake gasping for air for adventure.

Kind eyes for excitement.

Kind eyes for death escaping adrenaline.

Kind eyes, new love.

Kind eyes, madly, deeply, too soon, too soon to die. Kind eyes.

Kind eyes. I see you, what did you see?

Saw.

Said to yourself. Watching me drown. Was it hot Kind eyes?

Kind eyes will have me everytime.

fromdarzaitoleeza:

Jamie Anderson/Glennon Doyle Melton, Love Warrior

Grief and love are interconnected

metamorphesque:

—Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

[That’s what the world is, after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories.]

poppiesandpromises:

I will crack myself open

So the light remembers

Where I am, how to find me

A still-small star nursery

I’ll let myself be luminescent

Linger in the lilacs, put my

Petals toward the sun

I will bask in July like

A siamese in a sunbeam

I will count the butterflies

That bound across my yard

Flitting, floating fortresses

I will drown in the nectar

Of another day, chin sticky

From the sweetest peach

I will swallow till I’m sated

feral-ballad:

I thought I had been surviving, and yet, what I was really doing was hanging by a string, loosely holding myself from collapsing. I was always on the verge, and I could feel that friction in my soul.

Fariha Róisín, from Who Is Wellness For?: An Examination of Wellness Culture and Who It Leaves Behind

fairydrowning:

“Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.”

– Andrea Gibson

(via theartofaltruism)