[…]and then it hits me. I’m not anxious, I’m lonely. And I’m lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be so lonely because it seems catastrophic - seeing the car just as it hits you.

Augusten Burroughs Dry (via sempiternale)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

…to rust. To wonder how to digest defeat instead of vomiting it in the middle of the night, and go back to one’s bed and pull up the covers.

Etel Adnan, To Be In a Time of War (via jacobwren)

(via jacobwren)

Tell me what it looks like when the olive groves have burned, and mist rolls in at dawn over charred earth and sifts between skeletal branches. It may take this scorching to make peace on earth. The last pyres have petered out. If bones stick from ash, they are barely distinguishable from roots. In the emptied groves, among twisted ghostly forms, we dreamed justice was done.

Rosanna Warren, “19. End” from “Odyssey” (via elucubrare)

today’s face, as seen earlier in the afternoon. for the kind anon from a few days ago (and anyone else who happens to enjoy seeing these things).

today’s face, as seen earlier in the afternoon. for the kind anon from a few days ago (and anyone else who happens to enjoy seeing these things).