I dream late at night in the darkness
Of your skin on mine, your eyes on mine, your breath in sync with mine
We are entangled in the sheets
This is my heaven
if your hands are so full of intention,
that every brush of your palms feels
like you are writing a novel on my skin. ❞
Azra.T (via orpus)
This sweater is stained with coffee and your scent
Your memory is intertwined in its stitches
Damn it, I really liked this sweater
telling me I am made of longing. ❞
Rilke (via seabois)
Winter emptied the trees, filled them again with snow.
Because I couldn’t feel, snow fell, the lake froze over.
Because I was afraid, I didn’t move;
my breath was white, a description of silence.
Time passed, and some of it became this.
And some of it simply evaporated.
Louise Glück, from section 2 of “Landscape,” in The Threepenny Review (Issue 100, Winter 2005)
Breaking away from what could have been is like cutting off a lifeline
Listen to my heart go blank
Listen to the beeping machine go to a slow murmur
Listen to what we could have created
Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume (via squaremeal)
Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns