We take love in all its seasons.
Anne Sexton, from “Eighteen Days Without You” (via sketchofthepast)
we can only blame ourselves, so
come sit with me in the dark.
it’s half-past nowhere.
Charles Bukowski, from Come On In! (via ontheedgeofdarkness)
What I sometimes mistake for ecstasy is simply the absence of grief.
Sarah Kane (via journalofanobody)
You promised me that oblivion
would strangle me with ringed hands.
You promised me I would remember nothing.
Catherynne M. Valente, Helen in the Underworld (via ontheedgeofdarkness)
I’m up to my ears in unwritten words.
J.D. Salinger, excerpt from a letter to Jean Miller (via batticuori)