Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion. Audrey Niffenegger (via thesonata)
Tag Archives: poetic
When a boy tells you he loves you, watch the way his mouth forms the words. Is his voice a stuttering apology, or as smooth as honey. When a boy first kisses you, watch his hands. Do they touch your cheek, light as a butterfly’s wing or do they grasp your hip bones. When a …
In illness words seem to possess a mystic quality. We grasp what is beyond their surface meaning, gather instinctively this, that, and the other—a sound, a colour, here a stress, there a pause—which the poet, knowing words to be meagre in comparison with ideas, has strewn about his page to evoke, when collected, a state …
Some periods of our growth are so confusing that we don’t even recognize that growth is happening. We may feel hostile or angry or weepy and hysterical, or we may feel depressed. It would never occur to us, unless we stumbled on a book or a person who explained to us, that we were in …
pink-iepromise: pink color 🙂
The night outside was like a dark, heavy, perfumed flower. An expectant night- a night when things intended to happen. Very still. Only the loveliest of muted sounds- the faintest whisper of trees, the airiest sigh of wind, the half-heard, half-felt moan of the sea. L.M. Montgomery, Emily’s Quest (via lesgardenias)