— Joseph Campbell
After you learn every story your mother told you about
prom caught hard in the back of her throat.
After your sister finally tells you what happened the night
you didn’t pick up the phone.
After that party your freshman year of college, when you
drank all the vodka and then threw yourself at that boy
who was so not into you.
After the picture frames, the wine glass, and your vows
lay broken on the floor.
After you remember every racist thing you said as a small
town white teenager. After you realize that no amount of
present day enlightenment will make those words unsaid.
After you accept there are things you will never know
about your father or the man you love. After you accept
that each reminds you of the other. After the night they
met and shook guitar-calloused hands, staring each other
down with matching blue eyes.
After he asks you to marry him, and you say “Not yet.”
After you find your underwear in the dark curves of a
stranger’s sheets and leave before sunrise. After you,
sobbing, confess what you’ve done, and he does not
There is shame. There is fear. And there is this dizzying
The river will accept what it is given,
even your body and everything you’ve done to it. — Traci Brimhall and Brynn Saito, from “River” (via the-final-sentence)
(Source: dzancbooks.org, via ntrotto)
THIS IS LITERALLY THE MOST ACCURATE/BEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN ON TWITTER.
PATRICK KNOWS US BETTER THAN WE KNOW OURSELVES.
Cerulean. Bombay Sapphire. The deep end of the pool. — ZACH QUINTO ON CHRIS PINE’S EYE COLOR
The morning undressed the night slowly. — 6-Word Story #91 (via writingsforwinter)
Our short arms keep us lonely. -
Now we’re like planets, holding to each other
from a great distance. When we lay down
oceans flexed their green muscles,
life got busy in the other hemisphere,
the globe tilted, bowing to our power!
Now we’re hundreds of miles apart,
our short arms keep us lonely,
no one hears what’s in my head.
I look old. I’m losing my hair.
Where does lost hair go in this world,
lost eyesight, teeth?
We grow old like rivers, get shrunk and doubled over
until we can’t find the mouth of anything.
It’s March, even the birds
don’t know what to do with themselves.The Weight of Oranges by Anne Michaels
Julie D’Aubigny was a 17th-century bisexual French opera singer and fencing master who killed or wounded at least ten men in life-or-death duels, performed nightly shows on the biggest and most highly-respected opera stage in the world, and once took the Holy Orders just so that she could sneak into a convent and shag a nun.
bisexual opera singer who killed ten men and snuck into a convent to shag a nun.
(Source: kenyanmade, via ntrotto)