amour propre

commovente:

*laughs heartily*

*steps slowly into a puddle until i am completely submerged* 

may something
comfort you—a mockingbird, a breeze, rain
on the roof, Chopin’s Nocturnes, a kiss,
or even me—in my chilly kitchen
with my coat on—thinking of you.
Ellen Bass, from Insomnia
Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.
E. B. White

sleepingtigers:

I don’t know if anyone else does this, and it really might be a cruel thing to do, but lately I’ve been just wanting to nuzzle myself into people just through brief little impact moments. Where it’s inconvenient but only for them. Making statements during the most subtle of times that occurs and reoccurs in our lives. Like abruptly kissing them just before a waiter reaches the table to take their order. Or bringing cherry popsicles along on a summer’s night walk. Or cooking some sort of delicious sweet every Sunday night. Apple pie, maybe. Introducing them to classical tracks that make your heart ache. Bringing them to pick up flowers at local markets and tucking it along their ear. I don’t know. Just because, if you ever lost that person for good, the foundations of those things would never cross their mind without you written all over them. They’d feel a pit in their stomach on a wonderful date as the waiter headed in their direction. Popsicles would bring them back to your sticky skin, and the dark night of heat. The smell of warm apple pie would place them back in the apartment you two shared, and all over again it’d be Sunday night. A pause in an elevator or market when Tchaikovsky begins to play and they’d hear you humming along with it. When they go to pick out flowers for their significant other’s anniversary, or birthday, and all they can think about is what you told them it meant, and your favorites, because not many people have such love for things like that.

I want people to remember me like this. Sudden lip-locks. The smell of Apple Pie. Tchaikovsky. Running bath water. Sweet skin and melting popsicles. Windows open. Unfinished books. Flowers. Down blankets.

I need them to remember me like that.

who-:

Explosive Paintings Reach Beyond the Traditional Frame

In these artworks by artist Valerie Hegarty, it looks like the walls have exploded with an array of fruits, foliage, and decay. At first glance, one might think they are viewing art that has been destroyed. However, Hegarty is well-known for her explosive work that reaches out, beyond a flat area and into three-dimensional space.
Do you love me enough that I may be weak with you?
Alain de Botton
She wouldn’t say what we both knew. “The reason you will not say it is, when you say it, even to yourself, you will know it is true: is that it? But you know it is true now. I can almost tell you the day when you knew it is true. Why won’t you say it, even to yourself?”
William Faulkner, from As I Lay Dying

notebookings:

people need to stop making me cry on public transportation it’s getting embarrassing

I throw my mind out in the air — I desire to believe.
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Anne,
who were you?

Merely a kid, keeping alive.
Anne Sexton, from Baby Picture

Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here (Acoustic)

Running over the same old ground
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here

4,388 plays
I’m so odd, and I’m so limited, and I’m so different from the ordinary human being—so you say. I have a strong suspicion that I’m the simplest of you all, and that its my extreme transparency that baffles you. I dont think I ever feel anything but the most ordinary emotions.
Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Ethel Smyth