quite simply, I was in love with New York. I do not mean “love” in any colloquial way, I mean that I was in love with the city, the way you love the first person who ever touches you and you never love anyone quite that way again.

joan didion (via oscarprgirl)
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  • 1 week ago
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All these knees and
everywhere to put them.
All this heaviness and
all this air to hang it in.
All your fingers and
all this skin to hold it against,
all this sin to make of them.

So Much | Ramna Safeer (via overwhelmington)
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He liked her with long hair so she cut it short.

Six Word Story by Pien Pouwels (via bl-ossomed)
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…is ignorance bliss, I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.

Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via observando)
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  • 2 weeks ago
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There is nothing
to fix, here.

My being is one
of rough patchwork
and hidden entrance
wounds; even I do
not notice them until
I have tripped over
their swollen bodies,
still working on
healing, never fully
healed.

I have woken so many
from their sleep.

I will share with you
this broken, proud
thing, if you decide
you would like to
know her, just know
she has grown her
fair share of rust.

She will be hard to hold
for the first few nights.

When she wakes,
tangled up in herself, a
moment of forgetfulness
will allow you to see her
as I do, so clearly, as
this disheveled, imperfect,
lovable thing.

Tell her you love her,
but only if you do.
She will never be able
to hear it enough.

She will trace over the
sound of your voice, all
night. Her dreams will
be filled to their edges
with the memory of
your lips, your tongue,
wrapping themselves
around the words she
has never been close
enough to hear.

Do not let her drown
in her own self-doubt.

She is not to be fixed,
but that does not mean
that she couldn’t use
some help swimming,
every once in a while.

It is not weakness
to have been broken,
it is weakness to
pretend you never
were.

i talk about her as if she is separate from me, Emma Bleker (via stolenwine)
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  • 2 weeks ago
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this is how I want you to love me.
I want you to rest your hands
on the dips of my collarbones.
I want you to smile,
so that when I kiss you,
there is no doubt that you asked me
to be the only reason.
I want you to breathe me in,
nicotine and arsenic,
but dear god, be gentle, because
I don’t know which words will break me
and which will put me back together.
I want you to put me back together.
I don’t need you to fix me,
I just need someone willing to hold me
long enough for me to find my own pieces
and build my body from the ground up.
this is how I want you to love me.
I want untucked sheets
and slamming doors
and the floorboards too scared
to say a word,
and I want you.
goddamn, do I want you.

a.v., what I dreamed of last night (via spiritslyrics)
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Apology accepted, trust denied.

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Pray hardest when it is hardest to pray.

الجادة الخامسة (via 5th-avenue-nyc)
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