As through a fog,
as we, you come and go
from yourself. Many
histories.Come to bed.
We have to wait. The others.
Kiss on the stairs. Kiss in
the unlight.Aurora. Lluvia
de azahares. Lluvia de
azar. Rain of blossoms,
of chance.We weather
all places but here.
3 weeks ago
181 notes
sorewords: He told her,I don’t believe in ghostsor more like didn’t till you left...
He told her,
I don’t believe in ghosts
or more like didn’t
till you left but stayed with me
and you haunt me stillThings they tell each other in the dark
eyes shut, lips apart
hands held under the covers
they’re still acting like loversShe’s been wanting to tell him
‘In my mind…
Love these colours
“‘But, my darling, if you love me,’ she thought, ‘I don’t mind how much it is. Love me as little as you like.’”
Katherine Mansfield, The Collected Stories of Katherine Mansfield. (via c-ovet)
(Source: violentwavesofemotion)
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