"Awake, my dear. Be kind to your sleeping heart. Take it out into the vast fields of Light, And let it breathe."
— Hafiz  (via thatkindofwoman)
5197
"

i want a word for the almost-home.

that point where the highway’s monotony becomes familiar
that subway stop whose name will always wake you from day’s-end dozing
that first glimpse of the skyline
that you never loved until you left it behind.

what do you call the exit sign you see even in your dreams?
is there a name for the airport terminal you come back to,
comfortably exhausted?

i need a word for rounding your corner onto your street,
for seeing your city on the horizon,
for flying homewards down your highway.

give me a word for the boundary
between the world you went to see
and the small one you call your own.

i want a word for the moment you know
you’re almost home.

"
there and back again, n.m.h. (via anoraborealis)
47395

The Other Shore - manifest 4, by J.D Doria, 2013
13786
"Your love has passed through me and now I feel my mind something like an opal, that is, full of strange uncertain hues and colours, of warm lights and quick shadows and of broken music."
— James Joyce, Selected Letters (via whyallcaps)
126
amandacharchian:

Let the light lift the cup to your lips
1703
"You can’t measure the mutual affection of two human beings by the number of words they exchange."
Milan Kundera (via feellng)
1906
"It is not memory we want, but forgiveness.
We rub our hands against the dusk.
Out of which sunsets blossom.
Out of which your footsteps weigh, but lightly,
on my soul, you, from whom relation
darts wildly about like a bat in the rafters,
gathering the last scraps of daylight held in
abandoned mirrors, you, hoisting the heaviness
of each failed dream, for it is you I touch as we shift
the burden of our desires from one shoulder to another,
as we watch the swallow’s flight decipher the landscape,
as the scarecrows of feeling are trying on our words,
for who can say, now, how many stars are missing?"
Richard Jackson, closing lines to “Possibility,” from Heartwall (University of Massachuetts Press, 2000)
147
"It seems to me that in a certain sense we are all made of words; that our most essential being consists in language. It is the element in which we think and dream and act, in which we live our daily lives."
— N. Scott. Momaday (via overly-enthusiastic)
6
349
"I am in my own mind.
I am locked in the wrong house."
Anne Sexton, “For the Year of the Insane,” from Live or Die (via sacradelicious)
6065
old-hopes-and-boots:

Moonrise Sonata, by Colin H. Sillerud
240
"Now the sun was slanting in at one side, so that the shadows were where they ought to be. Again he fell into that strange mood of speculation that was so foreign to him. If faces were different when lit from above or below—what was a face? What was anything?"
— William Golding, Lord of the Flies (via likeafieldmouse)
415
foxesinbreeches:

Untitled by David Leveque
849
"Never forget that once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as a friend."
— Elizabeth Gilbert (via purplebuddhaproject)
325

the-sum-of-many-poets:

We look for coincidence in our need for understanding
So we have scattered you under the genus that flowers yellow
It matches the picture you coloured with your favourite childhood crayon
Growing in prolific ramshackle habits
The way you could never stay within the lines
The yellow is brilliant
The wind whispers the way you always tried to whistle

©David Sichler

28


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