the trees are prettiest
when their leaves
are turning
red and orange
in the name
of death

months pass
the pinks and light greens
of blooming flowers
the leaves are
just like before
but in different ways.

you are much like the trees
and i will love you
when you fall
just as much
as i love you
when you are blooming

fall and spring are temporary, however, they will always return // c.c (via oceanshark)
You prefer to think things over all by yourself, and you don’t like people peeping inside your head. Maybe that’s because you’re an only child. You’re used to thinking and acting alone. You figure that as long as you understand something, that’s enough. And that makes me feel afraid. I feel abandoned.
Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun (via larmoyante)

It’s your flaws I want to taste.
Your brooked mouth.
The way you smell after being
out all day. Your knees, so eager
to bend
to whatever song is playing in
your head.
Your chest, as it rises and falls
and rises and falls
on the carpeted ground. Your
sometimes smooth chin.
Your pimpled politeness. Your
tangled hair.
Your good morning,
every morning.
I don’t want to be able to run
my fingers through you easily.
It is no fun writing about

I want to talk about you.
Flawed. Crooked.

Lora Mathis, Black Coffee (via larmoyante)
I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
Clementine von Radics, Mouthful of Forevers (via larmoyante)