❝ I can picture this:
your words
strewn across canvas,
a mural
lighting up endless skies—
a sunset-silken
lullaby. ❞
Lyn, for a girl named greek goddess (via prettytoprose)
❝ lift your golden wrist;
it’s your fire, it’s your sun:
your sin, and your fall. ❞
A.M. Kingdoms of Honey, Haiku No. 2 - Icarus
(via renaissnce)
❝ Perhaps we’re not magic anymore. Perhaps we’re just comfortable. We just know our way around one another. We know which wounds to cauterize and which to let bleed. ❞
Donna-Marie Riley (via five—a—day)

God Explains Space To His Angels


You’ll have to slow down.

I mean, very, very slow, like travelling
an inch and a half (they call
it distance) in eight hundred
million years (they call
it time). You’ll have
to distinguish between here
and there - yes, yes,
we all know there’s only
the here and now,
but you’ll have to see
it their way - with everything
reduced to three dimensions.
It comes with being
exiled in a mortal
body, you see, which is not
entirely a curse, I assure
you. Space is the disposable
furniture of a mind
enmeshed in its own
metaphors, brandishing
a meter stick under
our immeasurable sky.

You’ll need wings.

—Sid Gomez Hildawa 


"What is the source of our first suffering? It lies in the fact that we hesitated to speak. It was born in the moment when we accumulated silent things within us."

Bachelard, Poetics of Space