knees-scraped-in-trees

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on things we can’t get back

mary oliver flare \ anne sextion a self-portrait in letters \ joseph lorusso \ leonard cohen lover lover lover \ anne sexton a self-portrait in letters \ barbara kroll \ anne sexton eighteen days without you: love poems \ celia paul

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and I'm sorry I left, but it was for the best my little dove...

absolute solitude: selected poems, dulce maria loynaz (tr. james o'connor) // the glass essay, anne carson // litany in which certain things are crossed out, richard siken // @uglyfruit // yves olade // hunger, harry styles // a not admitting of the wound, emily dickinson // no surprises, radiohead // fourth of july, sufjan stevens

#I don’t want any of this anymore

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via letsbelonelytogetherr

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love, always.

[west wind, mary oliver || the lovers of valdaro || in a week, hozier & karen cowley || leonard matlovich’s tombstone at the congressional cemetery in washington, dc. || everywhere, everything, noah kahan || memorial to a marriage, patricia cronin || cassandra clare]

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Unknown

#try. #even when you don’t want to. #especially when you don’t want to.

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“How do I say I miss you in a way that will make your heart ache for me as mine does for you?”

“My heart loves you so much I can barely contain myself when I see you.”

“Desperately I search for a piece of you in other women, and knowingly I fail as no other can see through me as you do.”

“I kissed her tonight, but tasted your lips instead. Tell me, love, have I gone mad?”

— some poems Talbott wrote on his journal when my MC and him were separated. (1991-1997)

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the sun and I fight for you everyday (incl. mangoes, clay models and side mirror souls) by S.R.

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im losing it

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"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."

- Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

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any tips for someone crying on their bathroom floor at 8pm on a Friday night. asking for a friend

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not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing (so devoted the lines blur)

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#if only it weren’t alone

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#love. language.

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‘Love’ is such a pure nickname. ‘my love’ is another subject entirely, but ‘love’… agekdjjfjkklk you aren’t mine, particularly, but when I see you that’s what you are: love. just. bursting out of your fingertips and also I’m pretty sure that when I look at you my eyes turn into little stars but anyway

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ek tujh mein rab dikhta hai yaara hum kya karein jaisi love story toh main bhi deserve karti hoon

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““If you only have one smile in you, give it to the people you love.” - Maya Angelou”

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