"But there is something about Time. The sun rises and sets. The stars swing slowly across the sky and fade. Clouds fill with rain and snow, empty themselves, and fill again. The moon is born, and dies, and is reborn. Around millions of clocks swing hour hands, and minute hands, and second hands. Around goes the continual circle of the notes of the scale. Around goes the circle of night and day, the circle of weeks forever revolving, and of months, and of years." (Madeleine L'Engle)

An undertone of insignificance, (the spinning apricot) forget me nots.

The only people for me are the mad ones - the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.

“I am still so naïve; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don’t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?” - sylvia plath

"how are you unwell?" i tell him i cry easily, laugh easily, get angry easily. i get overwhelmed. "that's a sickness?" i ask him what he would call it. "histrionics", he says. "what do you do for it?" i tell him i write books.

Your skin is something that I stir into my tea

Frou-frou fantôme & Dirge dancer & http://ghostsinthegarden.com & http://intheplayingfields.tumblr.com

i founded and edit http://rookiemag.com

I'm sitting in a window of a street Café...

At the end of my life, I want everything important to be documented with either a scar or a photograph.

grant them rest