I am a work in progress.
And so it goes.


Mastbos, Breda, Netherlands.
Photography by Sonja Krzeminski

(via hellogorey)


Kaspar Bossers (2012)


(via musiquegraphique)

“I love like a leaky faucet, or I love like a dam breaking. There is nothing in between.”

—   Shinji Moon

(Source: larmoyante, via therealconfused)


it’s been a good day.
lunch with the finest. #pinkyup (at Render Coffee)

The first night we slept together, you cracked open my chest with your lips, thinking love would be inside. You tried to reach at my heart and massage the love out of it. But it wasn’t there. All my love for you was a fire in my stomach, a kind of nuclear fusion for the soul. This was a feast and I had come to dine on you.

But long before you ever wrapped your arms around me, we were deeply intertwined. When two celestial bodies orbit, they are constantly falling towards each other due to gravity. The only reason they avoid collision is because of their previous momentum always propelling them forward and away. I love that. We were always falling towards each other, for each other. And everything that we had ever been up to that point—every mask we wore, every scar that was handed to us, every human heart that had ever grazed us—gave us the momentum we needed to not collide, to stave off self-destruction.

We are born into this world with ravenous appetites. And it didn’t matter if we were naked or in a bookstore, I never stopped wanting to sink into you, to learn the map of your enigmatic mind, to explore the continents on your skin.

—   (via typewriterdaily)

It’s morning now
and I miss you
I miss your lips on my knee
just resting there
holding me
in both of your arms

I miss your body writhing
because I tickled you
in the right place

I miss you pushing me back
telling me
‘stop thinking’
or ‘relax’
because you knew
I was having trouble doing both

I miss laughing over pizza
the second coming
of the messiah
and surprise pictures
where I look
actually terrifying

I miss walking home
in ‘California cold’
and holding onto your arm
for any bit of warmth
because I didn’t
bring a sweatshirt

I miss the spoonfuls
of vanilla and sprinkles
because they’re simple
we’re simple

but god this is so complicated

because I miss
the weight of your arm on my side the next morning
and being the big spoon
I miss getting too hot under the covers
and sticking a leg out
only to remember that
I don’t know when
that leg
will touch you again
sliding it back
and being too warm
and loving it

I miss your lips on my neck
I miss your nose in my eye
I miss your fingertips on my waist
I miss your voice in my ears
I miss your smile on my skin
I miss your heartbeat on my face
I miss your smell
I miss the little things

I miss February
And Thursday

I miss you

—   a message not sent | grumpygrizzlies

(via thegadaboutsledger)

“τέτλαθι δή, κραδίη: καὶ κύντερον ἄλλο ποτ᾽ ἔτλης.”

—   Homer, Odyssey 20:18
"Take courage, my heart: you have been through worse than this."
"Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this" (via plutoandpersephone)

(via marbleblonde)


But this dark is deep:

now I warm you with my blood, listen

to this flesh.

It is far truer than poems.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from Poem of the End (translated by Elaine Feinstein)

(via awritersruminations:)

(via jemexcusemaman)