“… my mother’s voice, flapping in my blood: If you need to run, run.”— Eugenia Leigh, from “The Morning I Abandoned My Father, Angels,” Blood, Sparrows and Sparrows
(via lifeinpoetry)
(Source: lifeinpoetry, via casualy)
Before evening. And fog.
The life you only recognize
by having had light at all.— Alex Dimitrov, from “The Sun,” published in The Cincinnati Review
(Source: cincinnatireview.com, via casualy)
To whoever loves me next,
I’m sorry if I’m afraid of you
or if days of flirting turn to
radio silence, without warning.
I’m sorry if I make you say the words
over and over and over until I believe them.
(I’m sorry if I don’t believe them.)
I will probably spend more time
worrying about losing you than I spend
trying to keep you.
Trouble is,
every single time I’ve ever thought
something was too good to be true–
I’ve been right.
Understand,
I will know how to be vulnerable with you,
but I won’t know how not to regret it.
And I have no idea how deep we’ll be
into this relationship before I admit
I’ve never done this before.
Not really.
Not in any way that counts.
Before I admit that I know
how to put my body inside someone else’s
but not how to make it beautiful.
I probably won’t be easy to love.
Too many people loved me badly,
I’m not sure I know how
to do it right.
(Source: thelovejournals, via wordsnquotes)
No offense but your friends are your soulmates too and not just people to complain about your romantic relationship to
(via goodgirlsgoto711)