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i think i’m gonna remake this blog in the next couple weeks bc it’s so messy n cluttered and i hate it ughgh

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You have my whole heart. You always did.

Cormac McCarthy, The Road (via theliteraryjournals)

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he knows they aren't doing anything official, that they're waiting the extra day to do it all at once, valentine's and the first anniversary of ( hopefully ) many, but he is who he is---and who were they ever kidding, thinking he wouldn't do something despite the plan?---and who he is is a man that's left a simple card and a box of chocolate on his side of the bed, just a little gift for the love of his life.

@sleepindarkness

           he should’ve known to expect this, given the examples years prior have set, but he’d been naive ( lovestruck ) enough to expect agreements to be adhered to regardless of soft natures and their tendencies to be starry eyed around one another. he should’ve expected it but he hadn’t; imagine the surprise to a half asleep mind when a usually empty bed is instead replaced with declarations of affection and a gift for the satisfying of his sweet tooth, however unhealthy such a fulfilment may be. 

           the duvet is warm around a lulling frame and the space between patched ribs, gently fluttering with life and tenderness, is radiating warmer as waking digits pry free the card from its envelope confines ( behaving, for once, that the sweets should remain untouched until at least a little later ). the message gets the easy job of tempting a smile to bleary features, replaced on the nightstand where he can admire from the nest of a still warm pillow. yet— barely a moment of comfort and his attention shifts to a silent phone, unlocked with a swipe to send a saccharinely sweet text of his own to the easily known culprit.

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pisboy:

happy blinky boy

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literarynarcotics:

old yeller // joji miller

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martysimone:

For Love & Lemons | Valentine’s Day 2017 Collection | Photo Zoey Grossman | Model Ashley Smith

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I didn’t realize it, but the days came along one after another, and then two years were gone, and everything was gone, and I was gone.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, “Babylon Revisited”  (via wordsnquotes)

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palmburnt:

      so it’s his cat. he hadn’t been quite certain on what to do with it. shooing it away hadn’t helped. what, lou had said, do you want with me ? luckily an owner finds it, scoops it away and takes a few steps back. ❛ it’s okay. i like to think i attract animals.❜ 

           mouth breaks into relief, simpering smile that his troublemaker happened upon a soul with a soft spot for animals. ❛ she’d probably have followed you home if you’d let her. ❜ or even if the other man hadn’t— she has a tendency to do whatever takes her fancy, seemingly immune to the reprimanding and rebuking that he doesn’t have the heart to be serious about. ❛ i’ve tried to train her not to wander off but... i don’t think she gets stranger danger. ❜

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cachazo:

     ‘ See, that’s a good thing. ’  Whole different league if Adri actually knew the corpse personally but this way, whether or not the guy had a family, wouldn’t be known. Still thought upon; lord knows Rourke’s pondered a few of his own kills, but it’s never enough weight to stop him. Kneeling in the dirt below, the kingpin has the audacity to put the blame elsewhere; lowly insulting the dead by calling it ‘one nasty motherfucker,’ just before working it onto the blanket. ‘ Well.. —you wanna’ ride with or go home? You don’t look too good, Adri. ’

           he doesn’t exactly feel too good, given the uneasy churning ocean of his stomach that has skin pallid and palms clammy, urge to drag those trembling digits across a sweat washed face barely resisted when he doesn’t need to paint himself red ( he’d thought he’d gotten past this, made himself something better than a pawn for the highest bidder ). always seems to be one step forward and two steps back; at least rourke has a hand in to prevent the fall. ❛ you mind if i clean up at yours? i don’t want to take this home. ❜ 

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anne carson sentence starters.

quotes are all taken from various poems and essays by the queen of aesthetes, anne carson. feel free to change pronouns/add things/etc if needed.

‘ you are not a god. ’

‘ we begin in the dark and birth is the death of us. ’

‘ now you’ve crowned yourself one final perfect time. ’

‘ [ name ] was a monster. everything about him was red. ’

‘ what are we made of but hunger and rage? ’

‘ i finally decided that understanding isn’t what grief is about. ’

‘ honey is the sleep of the just. ’

‘ it is perilous to live past the end of your myth. ’

‘ you remember too much. ’

‘ when i desire you a part of me is gone. ’

‘ humans in love are terrible. ’

‘ under the seams runs the pain. ’

‘ men know almost nothing about desire. ’

‘ sex is a substitute, like money or language. ’

‘ what is the holiness of conversation? ’

‘ —you burn me. ’

‘ i ask this one thing: let me go mad in my own way. ’

‘ sometimes i just want to stop seeing. ’

‘ we’re all mortal, you know. ’

‘ i am the shape you made me. filth teaches filth. ’

‘ why does tragedy exist? ’

‘ you’re a beauty. ’

‘ madness and witchery are conditions commonly associated with the female voice. ’

‘ it made me merciless. ’

‘ desire is no light thing. ’

‘ i do not exist. there is nothing left. ’

‘ gods are stubborn. so am i. ’

‘ we had been seduced into thinking that we were immortal. ’

‘ i am someone who did not die when i should have died. ’

‘ why are you so in love with things unbearable? ’

‘ everything can collapse. ’

‘ someone will remember us. even in another time. ’

‘ my mind is burning. ’

‘ each night, about this time, he puts on sadness like a garment and goes on writing. ’

‘ love does not make me gentle or kind. ’

‘ i can give you reasons not do die. ’

‘ passivity is killing her. ’

‘ they are victims of love, many of them. ’

‘ he is a young god. ’

‘ you touch my soul, you pain my mind. ’

‘ it’s something of a cliché to say that we all think we’re monsters. ’

‘ i fear your sorrows make your tongue grow wild. ’

‘ it’s what they call ‘ecstasy’. ’

‘ a man who can’t die is no tragic hero. ’ 

‘ i want everything. ’

‘ it was like a beautiful dance where your partner turns and stabs you to death. ’

‘ to survive you need an edge. ’

‘ girls are cruelest to themselves. ’

‘ we are dust. ’

bonus! further quotations from award-winning poet and author anne carson:

‘ i am a philosopher of sandwiches. ’

‘ pilgrims were people glad to take off their clothing, which was on fire. ’

‘ english is a bitch. ’

‘ i wish i were two dogs. then i could play with me. ’

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Stomach It ft. EDEN // Crywolf

You can’t escape forever, mistaking smoke for heaven’s light It’s not follow or fade to black and white, and I could take you home

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ywywyeyeyeyeye:

asoftwrongness:

It’s okay that you’re not who you thought you would be

wow this is one of the softest things I have read on here.

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sleepindarkness:

          he’ll ADMIT that he deserves a lot WORSE than to have this go easily for him, the cat lowered before she’s let down back onto the floor, blue gaze tipping back up towards the other man as he straightens once more, lips pursed, brows curved just so, to appear APOLOGETIC.     ❛ I think even if I did feed her, she would STILL prefer you. ❜     adrian IS the cat person of the two of them, though the two little felines they’ve collected have GROWN on him.     ❛ ———-I AM alive, though. Isn’t that what really counts here? ❜     never mind how CLOSE it had been, how the scar on the back of his head will be the greatest reminder of that close call. but he made it, alive and SOMEWHAT well—where’s the credit for that much?

           ❛ of course that’s what counts, ❜ and he sighs it, exasperated but wholeheartedly relieved despite the attempt to remain stoic and stony faced and entirely unamused by the whole ordeal that he’s had to deal with one too many times. so allow him the frown, the reprimanding lilt to the words that slip from the mouth all too eager to press to the other’s forehead, his cheeks, his lips— ❛ but i’m still gonna be mad at you. and so is duchess. ❜ for all of a struggling five minutes, passing like seconds between them when the time together is always so much shorter than the time apart ( could’ve been longer, could’ve been an unbearable lifetime had john failed to walk back through that door ).

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cachazo:

     Ominously vague  but the kingpin, of all people, UNDERSTANDS through those few words. He likes to think they’ve spent enough time working together ( both in business & personal pursuits, ) that he knows the other akin to a brother. ‘ Maybe you should clean up. I might have something to wrap this guy up but.. —yeah, you gotta’ little blood on your face, bud. ’ Thumb brushing the side of his own face, he indicates where Adri had created quite the guilty smear. In the back seat of his truck, he tugs a wide blanket from the seats, covered in tiny dog hairs. That’s a different story. ‘ Did you know them? ’

           stories for another time on another day— they both have their fair share of those and he wishes, oh how he wishes that he could be on one of those days right now where this mess doesn’t cause quite so much of a headache ( wishful thinking if ever there was some ). he wrings bloodied hands, more restlessness than it is nerves as a carmine bat clatters to the ground beside its pulp masterpiece; another thing to be cleaned and forgiven, another thing to be buried in the dirt of all the wrong he’s done. ❛ not personally. ❜ 

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