June 2012
1 tag
“Ah, but your absence, the physically felt silence of your hands.”
– Boris Pasternak in a letter to Marina Tsvetayeva, May 19, 1926 (via floralnymph)
1 tag
Honestly, I wonder what kind of secret postal service world there is inside my heart. I have written an infinity of things that I have erased (tick tick tick or pweetweepwee), scratched, burnt, melted in the water, crumbled, even torn into tiny pieces and then swallowed, and all the things that go unsaid come back inside me. I wonder how many of those (and what have they spelled along the years)...
nolollygagging asked: do you think that cities have personalities? if so, what are your favourite cities and could you describe the relationship you have with them?
makingmarks asked: Stay strong, dear little one. Perhaps all the chills and aches that run through your lonely body will someday turn to sweet flowers and your story will no longer feel like an abandoned ship, but a garden...
ianthia asked: What is your three most favourite periods in history?
talk to me, ask whatever you please →
I’m a solitary being, but even I feel there’s a certain limit to the hopeless romantic beauty of loneliness. Living off reminiscence of people’s traces isn’t very gratifying, I must admit - though any small talk or interaction is better than yearning and not admitting it, keeping your thoughts a secret… x
1 tag
3 tags
mermaid-sydney asked: I think that if your blog was a tangible object, it would be a thick, lovely, ornate book coated in fairy dust. Just so you know. :)
holloweyes asked: Your blog is heavenly.
Anonymous asked: where did you get your theme?
2 tags
2 tags
“I am too sick to lay down
the sidewalks frighten me
the whole damned city...”
– The Pleasures of the Damned, Charles Bukowski (via floralnymph)
1 tag
1 tag
“Memories are what warm you up from the inside. But they’re also what tear you...”
– Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via floriental)
1 tag
“Perhaps creating something is nothing but an act of profound remembrance.”
– Rainer Maria Rilke, The Poet’s Guide to Life, trans. Ulrich Baer (via proustitute)
2 tags
1 tag
The tantrum about school turned into a meltdown, and then turned into an examination of my life, and then took a violent turn. I don’t want to be here– I want to be back. I remember everything so vividly, but places have changed and people have morphed, or crumbled. Sometimes you need a physical comfort to hold on to– a dress that fits, a tree barely grown, furniture set so-and-so, the...
1 tag
sometimes I wish I were a boy, so I would cut my hair like the Little Prince and wear green turtlenecks and long capes and cravats with rose brooches and long scarves and elven little shoes.
Oh, and it would be a bit easier to deal with what carries me and I don’t think I’d have to ask the snake to take my soul back to my planet because I’d be just fine with being a scrawny...
pauljulian asked: you have beautiful taste in books
1 tag
There is something about coming back home that feels like entering a place full of mist, in which I cannot see what sadness masks. It’s as if it was a country of sickness; it all returned very mysteriously to me and I can’t decipher it all right now. I just know I’m sad, in the sense that goes inwards, as if falling through a black hole in which time is irrelevant and as if...
