"Farewell, My Queen" (2012)

(via sleepymood)

❝My darling, you are allowed to fail without being a failure. You are allowed to make mistakes without becoming one. More opportunities will present themselves, you will find hope again.❞


Dover Thrift Edition

❝And this is how we danced: with our mothers’
white dresses spilling from our feet, late August

turning our hands dark red. And this is how we loved:
a fifth of vodka and an afternoon in the attic, your fingers

sweeping though my hair—my hair a wildfire.
We covered our ears and your father’s tantrum turned

into heartbeats. When our lips touched the day closed
into a coffin. In the museum of the heart

there are two headless people building a burning house.
There was always the shotgun above the fireplace.

Always another hour to kill—only to beg some god
to give it back. If not the attic, the car. If not the car,

the dream. If not the boy, his clothes. If not alive,
put down the phone. Because the year is a distance

we’ve traveled in circles. Which is to say: this is how
we danced: alone in sleeping bodies. Which is to say:

This is how we loved: a knife on the tongue turning
into a tongue.❞

❝There are years that ask questions and years that answer.❞

Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (via andthatlittleblackdress)

(via starmaps)


Lidia Timoshenko (1903–1976), illustration for Aleksandr Puškin’s “Eugene Onegin”

❝There’s nothing more inspiring than the complexity and beauty of the human heart.❞

Cynthia Hand, Hallowed (via observando)

(via 20922)



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