"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."
my fingernails were blue
they are still blue
i wonder if the long-lasting
outlive what you promised
Reblog — attendance record.
there is a girl at the back of the class
there is a girl who stands in the bathroom
she will drink from the rims of your saturdays
when we were younger, we played out on the streets
her collar is slightly askew and her fringe
"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."
And this is how we danced: our mothers’
turning our hands dark red. And this is how we loved:
sweeping through my hair—my hair a wildfire.
to heartbeats. When our lips touched the day closed
there are two headless people building a burning house.
above the fireplace. Always another hour to kill—only
the car. If not the car, the dream. If not the boy, his clothes.
is a distance we’ve traveled in circles. Which is to say:
Which is to say: this is how we loved: a knife on the tongue
— “Home Wrecker,” Ocean Vuong (via commovente)
"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)
Reblog — after.
i cannot recall how many times
the morning you left the window open
if i did not see you leave,
can i imagine you in the living room,
or do i have to rinse the smell of you
do i have to ask you to come in,