You still cry too easily, but without your tears, at least, everything would burn. You are Spring in your jeans, in the laughing leaves. I think pearls melted over your bones.

I haven't written an actual entry in here in so long. I've pledged to begin writing again every day for at least an hour, even if forty minutes of that hour consists of me starting into space. For as long as I can remember, I've had a journal. There's one from first grade that barely makes sense with my shaky letters and incomplete sentences, but I ( Read more... )

Who made the world ( Read more... )

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Let fall your soft and swaying skirt. Let fall your shoes. Let fall your shirt. I’m not the ladykilling sort enough to hurt a girl in port ( Read more... )

“I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.”

Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVII

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"Why you commin' home at 5 in the morn'?/ Somethings going on/Let me smell yo dick ( Read more... )

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"We're all born with a box of matches inside us.
We can't light them by ourselves,
they can be lit from a melody, a sound, a caress, our lover's breath,
anything that pulls the trigger and sets off one of the matches.
Every person has to discover what will pull the trigger and enable him to live."

-(Como Agua para Chocolate)