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“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was always just red.”
— Kait Rokoski
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Petrichor, the kind of smell that brings back a lot of memories, my mind travels back to 8 years ago, it was raining all day long. We were still in high school, rebels of youth, how lucky I was to know you, the girl with the universe in her eyes.
Now we are just another friend who feels like strangers, who happen to be walking at the same crossroads.
If I could, I would like to go back to that phase of life, spending my afternoons listening to your stories again about things that make your heart flutter or ache, or perhaps just sit there together in silence, a comfortable kind of silence and we could let the world amuse us with their stories.
What a sweet memory that’s hard to grasp, flowing slowly further and further.
Petrichor, via @onesecondbeforesunset
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“I love that word. Forever. I love that forever doesn’t exist, but we have a word for it anyway, and use it all the time. It’s beautiful and doomed.”
— Viv Albertine
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Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.
Rad Bradbury, Dandelion Wine
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geniuss-loci-deactivated2021052:
“I can’t seem to love anyone pain hasn’t touched.”
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I love tumblr. Why? Because I can be horny or depressed in peace.
and everyone else scroll by like “shit me too”
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you think your crush is laying in bed thinking about you but in reality they’re reading about swords on Wikipedia
While you were wasting your time considering me as a romantic option I was studying the blade
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“What have I eaten?
Lies and smiles.”
- Sylvia Plath, The Jailer
