exhale

35,857 notes
23 May
Reblog

"It’s a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you’re ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any."

— Hugh Laurie (via coffeestainedcashmere)

(Source: silkandmarble)

56 notes
23 May
Reblog

my fingernails were blue
the night you told me
goodbyes don’t last.

they are still blue
but the polish is chipped
like pieces of lost sky
and i am wondering
which lasts longer.

i wonder if the long-lasting
quick-dry cerulean kind will
outlive the empty,

outlive what you promised
was mortal.

61 notes
21 May
Reblog — attendance record.

there is a girl at the back of the class
who cries when they play videos of cells in biology
and wears black dresses on days with no moon the night before
because sometimes we all need a little mourning.

there is a girl who stands in the bathroom
pretending her cigarettes are more than just wasted time
and holding herself together with the seams of her skirt
and forgetting what holding food down feels like.

she will drink from the rims of your saturdays
if you let her and somewhere there are boys who
whisper about loss in their sleep and wake with the
taste of blood in their mouths and she is
an aftertaste worth remembering.

when we were younger, we played out on the streets
and our mothers told us to come in
when the streetlights turned on but we ignored them
until the lightning and the loneliness
broke the bulbs and suddenly the absence
was too loud.

her collar is slightly askew and her fringe
is not even but she walks through fields when the sky
yawns her name and she forgives where it is due
and there is always a space in the hallways where her
shadow fits and we need that,
we need that.

1,523 notes
21 May
Reblog

(Source: partytights)

175 notes
21 May
Reblog

"Everything is, unbelievingly, unfolding into another spring, when the damn world makes us think we are as young as we ever were and deceives us by pale lucid skies and the sudden opening of little leaves."

— Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals (via violentwavesofemotion)

501 notes
21 May
Reblog

And this is how we danced: our mothers’
white dresses spilling from our feet, late August

turning our hands dark red. And this is how we loved:
a fifth of vodka and an afternoon in the attic, your fingers

sweeping through my hair—my hair a wildfire.
We covered our ears and your father’s tantrum turned

to heartbeats. When our lips touched the day closed
into a coffin. In the museum of the heart

there are two headless people building a burning house.
In case of rain, there was always the shotgun

above the fireplace. Always another hour to kill—only
to beg some god to return the seconds. If not the attic,

the car. If not the car, the dream. If not the boy, his clothes.
If not alive, put down the phone. Because the year

is a distance we’ve traveled in circles. Which is to say:
this is how we danced: alone in sleeping bodies.

Which is to say: this is how we loved: a knife on the tongue
turning into a tongue.

— “Home Wrecker,” Ocean Vuong (via commovente)

178 notes
21 May
Reblog

(Source: nicholasstevenson)

114 notes
21 May
Reblog

"I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it."

— Ernest Hemingway (via commovente)

42 notes
19 May
Reblog — after.

i cannot recall how many times
your lips have kissed the rim of that mug
with the faded handle and maroon stripe
but all i can remember is that the number
ends in 5 and makes me jealous.

the morning you left the window open
and the clock ticking faster than it should
and your breakfast unfinished on the table
and the door agape, i placed the mug
under water and rinsed your lips away,
but i have learned that dish soap
doesn’t work on envy
or forgetting.

if i did not see you leave,
does it still count as leaving?

can i imagine you in the living room,
reading the paper and ignoring the coaster
and drinking the tea with four sugars
and teabag out?

or do i have to rinse the smell of you
from the air and buy dish soap that works
on love and try to remember what i was dreaming of
as the porch light and the sunrise
flickered behind you?

do i have to ask you to come in,
to come in please and leave again,
for me to understand?

5,519 notes
19 May
Reblog

hnnhmcgrth:

JUNYA ISHIGAMI - ROW HOUSE IN TOKYO, 2005

(Source: betonbabe)