This Is Where I Go Left...

May 24, 2012 • 2,850 notes • amorette

I am a product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes, and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books.

C. S. Lewis (via amorette)

(via mustards)

May 22, 2012

When the stars go blue…

“Where do you go…” He used to sing, “when you are lonely?”

It wasn’t Bono or the Corrs, Ryan Adams…or maybe it was all of them, in chorus.

“But really, Rebecca, where?” he said without harmony in his voice.

“I don’t know…” I answered, ”I am here. Can’t you see me?”

“Yes, but you are moving too and I CAN SEE, and it scares me that you are going away…” and as the words “I’ll follow you..” sang,

He asked so gently that no one could hear but me, “Can I come?”

I didn’t need to answer, he was already there.

May 16, 2012

sometimes you need to go to bed before the sun.

May 15, 2012

but, as it continued to fall, as everybody knows, a soft water eats away hard stone, let someone else make it rhyme.

jose saramago

May 10, 2012

I know it is selfish to write or call today

and I won’t

(I hope)

and in an hour and half and it won’t be your birthday anymore.

but even then,

it won’t be any easier.

April 26, 2012

Beautiful

Trampled by Turtles

Stars and Satellites

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

a massacre of timing

a shadow world at best

a life to short and blinding

too beautiful

for me

no one saw it coming and no one sees it still…

empty space in memory

too beautiful

for me

I’m scared that I’m forgetting

I hate that life goes on

the world so sweet and deadly

too beautiful

for me

April 26, 2012 • 7 notes • lostinthesounds

He thought about alone in Constantinople that time, having quarreled in Paris before he had gone out. He had whored the whole time and then, when that was over, and he had failed to kill his loneliness, but only made it worse, he had written her, the first one, the one who left him, a letter telling her how he had never been able to kill it … . How when he thought he saw her outside the Regence one time it made him go all faint and sick inside, and that he would follow a woman that looked like her in some way, along the Boulevard, afraid to see it was not she, afraid to lose the feeling it gave him. How every one he had slept with had only made him miss her more. How what she had done could never matter since he could never cure himself of loving her.

The Snows of Kilimanjaro by Ernest Hemingway (via lostinthesounds)

April 23, 2012

I miss you. We would have had eggs.

April 17, 2012 • 2,615 notes • quote-book

The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.

Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams (via girlwithoutwings)

April 15, 2012

People say you can never go back, but I keep wondering if the universe prefers working in full circles?

April 4, 2012 • 11,764 notes • erhondeau.blogspot.com.es