Where No Endings End

(Source: mellow-dee)

"[He would find a way to make it work, because he finally understood that sometimes you have to raise your expectations.] And sometimes you need to make a claim on the world and the people you love to get what you most desire."

- Cinda Williams Chima, from The Wizard Heir (via the-final-sentence)

"My heart stopped. It just stopped beating. And for the first time in my life, I had that feeling. You know, like the world is moving all around you, all beneath you, all inside you, and you’re floating. Floating in midair. And the only thing keeping you from drifting away is the other person’s eyes. They’re connected to yours by some invisible physical force, and they hold you fast while the rest of the world swirls and twirls and falls completely away."

- Wendelin Van Draanen (via lunaoki)

(Source: hellanne, via atomos)

(Source: unacuraduria, via shesanargonaut)

Confessional Poetry for the Late Night Blogger: (1)

shesanargonaut:

I always feel
naked
in my own skin.

In public places,
I bow my head
and ask to become a disappearing act,
pray that nobody
can see the way
my torso folds
over gravity,
the way my eyelids
clasp like a purse,
the way my hands move
my hair away from my face
as if I am shooing away
a goodbye or a moth.

In private,
I stand before a mirror and pull
at my regret.

I name the pieces of skin that I can hold in my hands
“Mistake.”

The pieces that I can only palm
are
“No.”

It is hard to be in a body
that has never felt like your own.

When you cannot even
look at yourself
without feeling
ashamed,
it is even harder
to stay in it.

persephine:

Making her fall in love with me was deceptively
easy. She falls in love the way the Earth falls in
spring. I tell her that she looks like pomegranate

sounds, all lush curves and smooth skin. I grip her
pomegranate hips and stare at her pomegranate
mouth, “Did you really believe you could cheat

death?” She laughs and flutters, and a flurry of
epithets flees my head—trapper of butterflies, thief
of life. “I didn’t think I could get away with it.” And

what if the butterfly wants to be kept, what if the
mark of independence is to choose which gilded
cage. What if, to my winged consort, it is never

a cage but a choice. I think of this in her months
away. With her mother. Plucking day blooming
flowers, dancing with nymphs and drinking the

sun. My life is half heaven but always hell. I sit
on my throne in the underworld, judging souls,
waiting for her and peeling apart a pomegranate.

— An Excerpt From the God of the Underworld’s Love Letter to Winter

"‎later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere."

- Warsan Shire (via beautyisanillusion)

(Source: naturalinfiniteyes, via persephine)