Wednesday, January 26, 2011

sewn to a stormcloud that never collapsed*

"The air moving around you sometimes smells like beeswax and empty theatres."
(i met the most lovely girl yesterday* a girl who travels the way i love to, to places i dream of. she wears pale copper lipstick and observes "exceptionally green" trees as intently as i do...)
"My nights have been myriads of shattered chords; long-lasting like the departing steps of lovers. And in such moonshades, every poem turns to aurora borealis enveloping never-weres."
 "Crumpled train tickets in hand, come-backs in dust now, 'you must belong to some indescribable world', - and how I'd laugh bitterly, soaked in disbelief; struggling to find a page, a cobblestone, a short embrace in which to finally start tearing myself asunder. "
"Every time your hands are quiescent, resting away their poems, I imagine all the things they've touched, and how I'd like their echoes to stay still against my cheekbones, forever. Tree bark, washed out ink, bookshop-doors, guitar strings, white pillows, snowflakes, dust. Everything your hands have ever touched."
-writings via restlesshearts

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