Not all summers are beautiful.
The times were gone. Such magnitude, could it be any harder.
I am nothing compared to this world that i am in. Miniscule.
It could’ve been easier.
No it couldn’t have. I just need to cope with the loss.
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
—Oriah Mountain Dreamer (via skeletales)
(via thecloudswerewrong)
top photograph: my eyes photographed by eric rose // may 2010.
bottom photograph: kiki de montparnasse from a film by man ray.
That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald (via misswallflower)
(Source: s-old, via dramaticos)
- beautiful (via micasaessucasa: Dreaming of country)
Just wanna listen to jazz with you
in a small bar, and drink white wine and
and, and, and
maybe lean over and whisper a line of a poem
to you that i had written, about you, for you
but that you didn’t know, was towards, comma, you
and then have you look at me
and do that thing with your lips where they move
upwards in different directions, like two blackbirds
of your irises are pulling them up by the beaks, and
you lean in
and
and then
my mind draws a blank here.
