December 2011
“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever...”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald (via immortels)
November 2011
Metronome
tylerknott:
I think that maybe my heart uses your heartbeat as a metronome to stay on track. Yours balances mine, slows it, teaches it to beat strong and steady and with purpose and rhythm. When faced with the unfortunate but often unavoidable situation where it cannot hear yours, it forgets, simply forgets all it was taught. Like a piano student whose teacher skipped the recital. It aches for...
ambedo
dictionaryofobscuresorrows:
n. a kind of melacholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—which leads to a dawning awareness of the haunting fragility of life, a mood whose only known cure is the vuvuzela.
sincesheleft:
rightaheadyoungsailor:
I like to do things the same way over and over again. Like how I will always wash my face last in the shower, or take six gulps from the water fountain, or leave before I am left. And maybe it’s because I’m scared, or maybe it’s because I know I will be too reckless. I’ve scraped my knees more times than I can count, but don’t you know that’s how I tell when...
“I write to let go,
I write to hold on tighter,
and I write, for you.”
– Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)
autumnfires:
it is sort of ironic maybe. that summer did not melt away with the taste of maple syrup and orange juice in my mouth but instead ended with the taste of iron like i swallowed the change out of everyone’s back pockets. i feel the way winter is slowly starting to bloom and usually this is all boxes of cigarettes and blankets that never cover my feet but the air is like an arrow right...
re: velvet
likelava:
Sometimes I write things and hesitantly post them only to pull them back because I get shy about stuff that nobody else would understand. Sometimes I write things that are sad to me because they’re about old friends that I was in love with once in ways I could never talk about out loud because it wouldn’t be coherent - or strangers I never had the courage to share a moment with because...
You remind me of Sunday afternoons
graceyeoh:
You remind me of Sunday afternoons. Asphalt on the driveway; a blend of getaway dreams and scorching heat. Occasional wind, dancing through hair, grazing past skin, lingering in the gaps in between breaths. Dusty old books, heavy with the smell of experience. Handwritten letters, the ones written in a haste because the emotions keep flowing. Converse sneakers, blue and red and green...
sincesheleft:
Sometimes the thought crosses my mind when I ride in over the bridge. The weather so bitter and cold. The lampposts bleed reflections into the East River. There is not another soul on the bridge, just dimly lit bike path. But my mind wanders and I see a flash of hair. It’s too early in the morning for any logical thinking.
You must be sleeping, any person with normal working...
start of something good // daughtry (via coconi)
