mere air, these words

Once, a girl sang this to me.

Kathy’s Song - Simon & Garfunkel

(Source: slantedlight)

(Source: letterstodeadpeople)

I just want more.

And the more will kill me.

nevver:

The Cocktail Chart of Film & Literature (larger)

I’m just leaving this here.

Hi Suzi. I was just rereading 1000 times what you said on that picture of the people with the straight line tattoo and wish I had said it myself. I just wanted to say hi and ask you if you are happy. You seem happy and you deserve to be and I hope you are. 

As I get older, I realize that there aren’t a lot of solid truths to be found in one human lifetime. Going to college doesn’t always bring you what you think it will. Traveling the world lets you see the world, while not necessarily providing the experience you imagine it will. Falling in love just means being in love, which doesn’t guarantee a home, a life, or a future. You can create a thousand tiny truths each day - and you will - but the kindest thing you can do for yourself is to be wrong about them. We are born and we die in the middle of everything. We will likely eat the words tomorrow we protect ourselves with today. We will know less, not more, as time leaps forwards. So be worthy of it. Be risky. Be humble. Be the universe you are until you aren’t that universe anymore, and rocket yourself into the next one. There is no blueprint and there never was. All we have is a morning, an evening, a poem, and each other. Ever onwards, my friends. Ever onwards.

(Source: dimotopia, via thingsthatdontgetlost)

But I can’t get my head around it;
I keep feeling smaller and smaller.

— “I Need My Girl,” The National

(Source: lousverge, via nightbears)

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Blizzard

After agony had left his body to find another, 
or in search of no one, just agony on its 
own for once, merely cruising, 
something stayed, like 
                                 a precipitate—grief, maybe, 
that’s what they said, 
as if such had ever been 
grief’s properties … Why is lying 
to others always so much harder 
than to ourselves? Yesterday, for example, 
starlings in flight, the ice of 
the frozen pond beneath them briefly 
containing their shadows—not 
                                              reflecting them, 
not the way water does, the way 
the water did, the way it will 
in spring when the pond has unlocked itself 
all over again with 
no more regard than disregard 
for the wings and faces that pass, or don’t, 
across it, so what, 
                            so what? When I say 
I trust you, I mean I’ve considered 
that you could betray me, which means I know 
you will, that we’ll have between us at last 
that understanding which is a safer thing 
than trust, not a worse, 
not a better thing … Wanderer, 
whisperer, 
little firework, little 
                             not-my-own, soon enough 
the non-world we’ve been steering for 
from the start: colorless, stripped of motion, all those 
pleasures you knew so well how to give to others 
gone also—pleasure, 
I can hear you say, what world 
was that

— Carl Phillips

(via loveyourchaos)