a breath, a whisper, a word

A heart weighs more when it splits in two; it crashes in the chest like a broken plane.

—Mitch Albom (The Time Keeper)

(Source: coffeepeople)

In the end there doesn’t have to be anyone who understands you. There just has to be someone who wants to.

—Robert Brault (via primumovens)

(Source: larmoyante, via ode-to-ancestors)

There’s no good in your eyes anymore, and it makes you want to drive home, drunk and alone, curse the faces in the wheat, drown yourself in the gold because you can’t let it go, makes you almost miss the smell of smoke in your clothes, makes you want to wear the wool. It’s that need like nothing else, You bullshit with the best and wait for what’s perfect, bitch and moan more than most about where you think your life will take you but you know that’s no sort of pretending. I guess it’s the things that I don’t say, we’re just pretending. There’s no good in your eyes anymore. Nothing is worse than doing nothing, I know, well, who’s hiding it? Who the hell is hiding it? But you can’t stay angry forever, and I know but you can’t stay angry forever, or so I’m told. But the house gets so quiet, sitting here wishing for just an hour or two, alone with you, well, it’s always too personal, always too close to comment, they all mention how tired you look and you realize you haven’t said a word in hours, well, who’s hiding it, who the hell is hiding it? I guess it’s the things that I don’t say.

—Hiding by Pianos Become The Teeth (via palevanity)

(via wowokwow)

Always give others what you have and they don’t have, before you give yourself what you do not need.

—

Zena’s Mother

I try to laugh at whatever life brings. Because when I look down, I just miss all the good stuff, but when I look up, I just trip over things.

—Ani DiFranco (via perfect)

(Source: larmoyante, via left-nut)

Don’t you know better? Hearts are breakable. And I think even when you heal, you’re never what you were before.

—Cassandra Clare, City of Fallen Angels (via vacants)

(Source: vacants, via sadillite)

You will hear thunder and remember me,
and think: she wanted storms.

—Anna Akhmatova (via larmoyante)

(via kleineperle)

Y. That perfect letter. The wishbone, fork in the road, empty wineglass. The question we ask over and over.

—Marjorie Celona, from ”Y.“ (via weaverofstars)

(via kleineperle)