“I’m learning to love the sound of my feet walking away from things not meant for me.”
— Unknown
@superrman / superrman.tumblr.com
“I’m learning to love the sound of my feet walking away from things not meant for me.”
— Unknown
“You gotta show love even when they don’t - or you become one of them.”
— Unknown
Arisa White, from “Does the monitor turn static after the man recedes into concrete, does it loop, does his batty keep sway, forever on?” published in BOAAT (via weltenwellen
𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟺, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟷 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶 -𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹
[ID. October 4. I feel restless and vicious. END ID]
“We are homesick most for the places we have never known.”
— Carson McCullers (via quotemadness)
Fleur Jaeggy tr. by Gini Alhadeff, I Am the Brother of XX: Stories
— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
— Asiya Wadud, from “my little nothings form a mouth,” Crosslight for Youngbird (via lifeinpoetry)
“Don’t be sorry your darkness is gone. I'll carry it for you, always. I’ll keep it with mine.” is one of the rawest, most romantic lines I have ever heard
i cant think of the fact that humans send messages saying ’where are you? who are you?’ from earth to the giant and empty space all around us for too long because it makes me cry so hard and feel so human and lonely
things that humans have sent to space as a friendly gesture that make me cry my eyes out:
- whale songs
- sounds of footsteps, laughter and a kiss
- an hour-long recording of the brainwaves of someone who was, among other thoughts, thinking about what it is like to fall in love
- an illustration of two people holding hands
- so many sentences in almost 60 languages, including these: ’Friends of space, how are you all? Have you eaten yet? Come visit us if you have time.’ ’Greetings from a computer programmer in a small university town on planet Earth.’ ’Are you well?’ ’We are happy here and you be happy there.’ ’How's everyone? We all very much wish to meet you, if you're free please come and visit.’ ’Wishing you happiness, health and many years.’ ’Welcome home. It is a pleasure to receive you.’
“Night is a history of longing, and you are my night.”
— Mahmoud Darwish, from A River Dies of Thirst; She Said to Him.
Ansel Elkins, from “Autobiography of Eve” (via antigonick)
there’s something very special about secondhand books. a ghost of a stranger’s hand lurking, their scrawled thoughts remain, some even leave tears and ink, and coffee stains. the whole experience is seemingly intimate. those dog-eared pages, forgotten bookmarks, the remnants of a reader who dreamed. questions surfacing - who held these pages? such is the power of literature: it connects even the most far-off individuals under ideas that compels them to yearn
terrible years really make you understand the point of a new year. i know nothing much will have changed between dec 31 and jan 1, but we need to be able to partition off everything that’s happened to us, we need a moment to say, ‘that’s done, we’re done with it, it’s over’ and have a little hope that the future will be different. we need to be able to stop and take a breath and sing, in the middle of winter, and prepare ourselves for spring.