(exists no miracle mightier than this: to feel)
— e.e.cummings (via finnvseverything)
(via methodistcoloringbook)
You are, at once, both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.
— Franz Kafka (via barbieandken)
(via gonzajournalism)
“Downhill,” Julia Vinograd
I don’t have a home
and I live there
all the time.
Let’s face it. We’re undone by each other. And if we’re not, we’re missing something. If this seems so clearly the case with grief, it is only because it was already the case with desire. One does not always stay intact.
— Judith Butler, Undoing Gender (via swanfucker)
always this
(via mrsexsmith)
Punch in the Face Poetry: "The Thing Is," Ellen Bass
To love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;…
There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors.
— Adrienne Rich (via didyougetmytext)
(via methodistcoloringbook)
