I think there comes a time when you meet someone and you just want to make them smile for the rest of your life.
Unknown  (via ami-that-weird)

(Source: psych-facts)


(Source: francesco1991)


artmonia:

Incredible Shadow Art Created From Junk by Tim Noble & Sue Webster.

You own it.

You know why voices die in throats
and trees struggle in silence: the deepest trauma cannot
spare a sound.

Alice Fulton, from “You Own It (via violentwavesofemotion)

This is sooo real….

I am writing a book on how to write a book so I can learn how to properly explain why you look better with the lights on. I listen to a song but it doesn’t mention your name so I stop listening to the song. Your heart is noise pop. White noise is ghosts missing the streamers that fall from your ears while you sing in the car. Vermont is not far if you are already in Vermont. My cat looks at me and then walks away. He is named either after a famous musician or a body of water. There are so many words I refuse to learn how to spell. Still, I spell check your thighs after I bend you over my desk. I spell check the inside of your left ear while you bite yourself on the kitchen table. Prostrate. Today I am writing in grunts, I am playing in fonts. My chest hair is size 44 Comic Sans. My eyebrows are whittled away before I leave the mall. I have sat under the same sun as you for 25 years. Sometimes I have walked under the same sun as you. Once, I played tennis under the same sun as you. Repetition sun. Staccato sun. Wrinkled sun. I tell your skin that covers your clavicle We’ve got at least 53 more years of holding hands on a bench under the same sun. The sequel to this poem is John Cusack holding a boombox over his head under barely any sun. Fact: I want to kiss your nose even when I’m not inside you.
Gregory Sherl, ”Please Move to Vermont and Break My Heart (via infelicific)

(Source: )

I’m a radiant void. I’m convalescing after a long and dreadful illness…I cannot brood over broken hearts, mine is too recently mended.
Vladimir Nabokov, “Ada, or Ardor” (via man-of-prose)
You create
one absence
after another
in order to
control it.

Margaret Atwood, from Selected Poems II: 1976 - 1986 (via violentwavesofemotion)