Curious Creatures.



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marinaesque:

inside The Grand Budapest Hotel

(via contramonte)

I think of ‘poet’ as an identity, because it’s not like you choose it. If you’re any kind of a writer, you do it because you can’t help but do it. Jericho Brown, interviewed by Kendra DeColo for Nashville Review (via bostonpoetryslam)

(via contramonte)

pleoros:

Maroesjka Lavigne - Ísland, 2013

(via contramonte)

Sometimes I remind myself that I almost skipped the party, that I almost went to a different college, that the whim of a minute could have changed everything and everyone. Our lives, so settled, so specific, are built on happenstance. Anna Quindlen, Every Last One   (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: wordsthat-speak, via emi-lilies)

(Source: englishsnow, via englishsnow)

1. We were in tune like synchronised swimmers.
Now I learn to navigate the oceans on my own.
[delete]

2. I sobbed on public transport yesterday.
I wanted to call you but then remembered
I’m not allowed to.
[delete]

3. The truth is: I know I’m better off
without you, but these memories
keep tricking me.
[delete]

4. You make me feel like a walking cliché.
I need to stop romanticising leaving,
stop comparing your collar bones to
valleys and your freckles to constellations.
[delete]

5. Can you jumpstart my heartbeat again?
I’m running so low on fuel.
[delete]

6. God knows I need to delete your number.
[delete]

7. Please don’t ever contact me again.
[delete]

8. Perhaps we were destined to falter
from the start,
just as Venice is doomed to sink.
[delete]

9. Speaking of Venice,
you should visit while there
is still time.
[delete]

10. You made the words
feel just right. Now they spin
off kilter.
[delete]

11. You had little nicknames for me.
I secretly miss being called moon shell,
tiger, fairy nymph.
[delete]

12. Maybe we were just a collection
of dead ends and false starts.
We should have been disqualified
from the beginning.
[delete]

13. Grief is the same in any language.
I mourn you. I collect flowers and place them
on your grave in the cemetery.
[delete]

14. You are so much more than human.
[delete]

15. Despite all of this, there is some
beautiful solitude in sleeping with
only my heartbeat
for company.
[delete]

jessica therese, after “15 Texts I Almost Sent To You" by d.a.s (via contramonte)

(via contramonte)

Perhaps we’re not magic anymore. Perhaps we’re just comfortable. We just know our way around one another. We know which wounds to cauterize and which to let bleed. Donna-Marie Riley (via five—a—day)

(via contramonte)

But the pleasant thing is to wake early, throw open the window, and lie reading in bed. Edward Fitzgerald, from a letter to W. F. Pollock, May 3, 1840 (via twotonmantaray)

(Source: litverve, via contramonte)

lindsaybottos:

julias friends in pretty boy, july 2014

(via contramonte)

numbskully:

ayyooo