And I Asked Myself About The Present: How Wide It Was, How Deep It Was, How Much Was Mine To Keep.

And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.

Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five (via soiledteenagedgirlfriend) (via fuckyeahkurtvonnegut-blog, heisenbergsays)

“Sometimes, you do things and you do them not because you’re thinking but because you’re feeling. Because you’re feeling too much. And you can’t always control the things you do when you’re feeling too much.”

— Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (via thelovejournals)

I know that the oldest hungers in my skin must fold in a straight line. Every kiss sparks another sun to pray for me.

Scherezade Siobhan, from “Left of Azul” (Published in Glass Poetry)

“Our lives are like birds’ lives, flying around, blown away. We’re bandied and bucked on and carried across the sky, Drowned in the blue of the infinite, blur-white and drift. We disappear as stars do, soundless, without a trace.”

— Charles Wright, from Drone And Ostinato in “Appalachia” 

“Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion… Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.”

— Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell, by Marty McConnell  (via soracities)