" As I Leave My Childhood Home, I Want To Ask This Old House : Will You Miss Me Like I'll Miss You? Will

“To put it plainly, we just couldn’t stop writing songs. To try and put it more poetically, it feels like we were standing on the edge of the folklorian woods and had a choice: to turn and go back or to travel further into the forest of this music. We chose to wander deeper in … I’ve never done this before.”

— Happy anniversary to evermore

“Do you remember a night when I came along the dark passage to your room in a thunderstorm and we lay talking about whether we were afraid of death or not? That is the sort of occasion on which the things I want to say to you,–and to you only,–get said.”

— Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West written c. June 1933

i am haunted. i am my own haunting. i am the ghost in the graveyard of my body, mournful, monstrous.

i think there is something sad and beautiful about willingly letting some things happen. about seeing you phone battery dying and not charge it. about letting your schoolbag get soaked on a rainy day. about not fretting when you lose your ring in the ocean. about not trying to stop it when you see a cup falling to the ground. about letting some people go from your life without trying to make them stay

you'll be mad and sad after, but it means you had let that go before it even tried to go away. and i find this sad, but oddly beautiful

remember when you were a child and you thought the moon was following you in the car…gud times

“…and we drink our coffee and pretend not to look at each other.”

— Charles Bukowski, Luck (via lescinemas)

“I’ve always hated my name for some reason. It always sounded weird when it passed through my lips like it never belonged to me, but when I heard you say it for the first time it was as if it was the only name I’ve ever known. You didn’t shorten it or call me by a nickname it was always my own, nothing more nothing less. You said a name as beautiful as mine should never be butchered in such a way and I believed you. Then you left and the boy I talk to now calls me by a different name and you don’t call me at all.”

— S.Z / Excerpts from a book I’ll never finish #4 (via elvishbabes)

Hunter S. Thompson // Sylvia Plath // N.M. Sanchez