I think I’m going to start this whole turning things over thing, tomorrow. *invigorated
(via cerealboxshakespeare)
Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward
(via fleurishes)
what is simple in the moonlight, by the morning never is.
Sometimes you have to do something sappy
The last smells of summer cling to my skin, and I can’t help but remember the way that yours clung to mine so long ago, or was it even that long ago. We both stopped saying anything to one another as if to prove who would be the last to feel vulnerable; this time it was me. But then again, that’s what these kinds of things do to people. And I remember every detail, except one, which is the taste of your mouth and how it felt for someone to love me that way. I think that’s why we held on for so long — we liked the feeling of being loved, even if we faked it sometimes, skirted the issues, fast-forward to the juicy stuff and then say goodbye. I remember everything, and yet as the days go by I seem to forget to think about it, to think about you. And right now that seems like a great, fabulous thing — save myself the trouble of feeling so unloved and naïve. But I know that your scent will just continue to cling, just as I cling desperately to your sweater, your words.
She said she knew she was able to fly because when she came down she always had dust on her fingers from touching the light bulbs.
(via fleurishes)
‘Explore me’ you said and I collected my ropes, flasks and maps, expecting to be back home soon. I dropped into the mass of you and I cannot find the way out. Sometimes I think I’m free, coughed up like Jonah from the whale, but then I turn a corner and recognize myself again. Myself in your skin, myself lodged in your bones, myself floating in the cavities that decorate every surgeon’s wall. That is how I know you. You are what I know.
(via fleurishes)
