— Lady Chatterley’s Lover. D.H. Lawrence. (via decayingdolly)
When grief comes, they say that you start eating the parts of yourself that hurt the most.
When you left, I started with my fingers and worked my way inwards until in gentle lights it looked like my organs were falling softly out of me
my mother came to see me two days after it happened but by then my fingernails were stubs and I’d begun gnawing at the corners of my lungs. She said that I looked ‘peaky’ and I laughed so hard that I coughed up the other lung.
We spent the evening drinking wine and cleaning pieces of myself from the floor. You said I’d be sorry for the ivory carpet and you were right, heartache is the worst sort of stain.
At night I miss you the most, so I chew on my knuckles until I can’t remember the way you held them against your face and even then there’s the ghost of how we slept together and the ways it fit.
I think that even the mattress feels the loss of you because at 3AM it sighs quietly and shakes. Either that or you’re haunting me, if you are I don’t mind, please come back, I’ll stop leaving the dishes in the sink, I’ll kiss your throat until there are marks. Please come back I’m empty without you and I’m beginning to lose the feeling in my limbs
— Azra.T “When Grief Comes” (via 5000letters)
Zelda nad Francis Scott on their wedding day
— D. H. Lawrence (via amandaonwriting)
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun…
I fear the dark. Not quite the lack of light in any given space, but more the mysterious evil that often finds comfort and dwelling in this ubiquitous darkness. Frequently, when I turn my light off at the end of the night, I cover myself with my duvet. I do not think that I do this with the belief…
Eirean Bradley (via button poetry)
whole cases of imperfect ambitions
stuff the idealists couldn’t sell.
Yeah, I know none of its got price tags,
you decide how much its worth.
And none of its got glossy colored packaging
but it all works just fine.
I’ve got rainy day swing sets
good night kisses and stationary stars
— Nathanael West, The Day of the Locust (via quoted-books)
— (via hazelhirao)
— Anonymous (via hetheria)
— Clementine von Radics (via clementinekruczynski)