I learn a great deal by merely observing you, and letting you talk as long as you please, and taking note of what you do not say.
— T.S. Eliott (via peignezlenoir)
The moon smells (and tastes) like burnt gunpowder. No one is quite sure why.
I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2 am. I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks. I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
— (via allherpathsarepeace)
