“I will spend the better part
of this dance
loving you the wrong way.
Building cathedrals
on your shoulders,
making porcelain of your jawline.
Idolatry is my way of saying
that the angels are still proud
of the tricks they pulled
to sculpt you. You have
dying lungs
and in the morning,
you smell like soil,
and you have taught me
how to stomach addiction
like it is just a promise,
just a diamond rimmed habit.
I will spend the better part
of this dance not realizing
I am better than worship,
not realizing I would like to learn
how first to sew chapels
and monuments into my own skin,
staple stainglass windows to my peripheral
as reminders to love myself
and let myself keep myself,
before you.” — May I Have This Dance, May I Forget it Afterwards? | Ramna Safeer (via inkywings)

(via awkwardfleurtation)

11 hours ago · 288 notes (© inkywings)


"I feel my eyes tearing up. What should I do with my eyes? What should I watch?"

(via theotherway)

15 hours ago · 409 notes (© blanchefordubois)

“The sweet small clumsy feet of April came into the ragged meadow of my soul.” — E.E Cummings (via rileysara)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via theotherway)

Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959) by Alain Resnais.

Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959) by Alain Resnais.

(Source: shihlun, via unecrepuscule)

“If someone wants you in their life, they’ll make room for you. You shouldn’t have to fight for a spot. Never, ever insist yourself to someone who continuously overlooks your worth.” — (via theportablefaulkner)

(Source: the-healing-nest, via shotgun-season)

Brigitte Bardot in Cannes for the annual Film Festival, 1953. Photo by Kary Lasch

(via lespommes)

“Hungry. Stomach screaming hungry, I worry about the conversation we haven’t had yet. You know, this one. I will order pudding after dinner and chew and swallow without tasting anything much. You… you will chain-smoke and drink three different beers and we will talk out how to make the best of things despite the year and it’s shitty weather. We are tired of dressing in layers just in case and leaving wet umbrellas in other people’s houses. Who can live like that? On the day, your voice will be too bright and cheerful, the way it always is when you hurt the most. We’re always trying to make everything okay. Fine. Well - and whatever shit we tell our friends instead of awful. Grieving. Barely breathing. Come, let us talk with our closed up throats, crushed hearts and wet eyes. Quickly, because when you get that metallic taste on your tongue and teeth it means trouble and when I get that light feeling in the space between the back of my eyes and my skull it means hell.” —

Impending Dialogue - Freewrite

Yrsa Daley-Ward

(via thiswillnotlast)

(via nayyirahwaheed)


Ximena Forero M. - Untitled, 2013


Ximena Forero M. - Untitled, 2013

(via kubyina)

15 hours ago · 2,182 notes (© pleoros)

And the reason I am writing this
on the back of a manila envelope
now that they have left the train together

is to tell you that when she turned
to lift the large, delicate cello
onto the overhead rack,

I saw him looking up at her
and what she was doing
the way the eyes of saints are painted

when they are looking up at God
when he is doing something remarkable,
something that identifies him as God.

” — Billy Collins, from “Love” (via the-final-sentence)

(via quievi)

(Source: camsfingermonkeys, via thekidsalooker)

“What makes cinema so attractive, so fascinating is that it’s not just a one plus one process. It’s a chemistry between sounds, words, ideas & image.” — Wong Kar-Wai (via jolieing)

(Source: bisoushells, via jadorelavie)


Bataille - Erotism: Death and Sensuality 


Bataille - Erotism: Death and Sensuality 

(via saisonlune)

“She rises up out of a sea of faces and embraces me, embraces me passionately—- a thousand eyes, noses, fingers, legs, bottles, windows, purses, saucers all glaring at us an we in each other’s arm oblivious. I sit down beside her and she talks—- a flood of talk. Wild consumptive notes of hysteria, perversion, leprosy. I hear not a word because she is beautiful and I love her and now I am happy and willing to die.” — Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer (via valsez)

(Source: rabbitinthemoon, via valsez)





(via zonneglimpjes)

“Telling a young girl she can’t wear what she wants because it’s not appropriate encourages the idea that men’s reactions should dictate society’s norms, and that all women are meta-Eves, tempting and ensnaring men with our sultry-eyed gaze. My parents’ culture is steeped in patriarchy, in the philosophy of the one-step machismo machine, where there is just one kind of man, and two kinds of women: the angel and the whore. These limited ideas of masculinity breed men who want ownership of women.” — Fariha Roison (via girl-violence)

(Source: voirsully, via rememo)

1 day ago · 15,372 notes (© voirsully)