rogue suns

basicaquatics:

first things first, you
should know:
i was not put on
this earth to be
yours.

i did not bleed out
of my mother’s ripeness
to run straight into
your arms.

if the first word i ever
spoke was a name,
it was not
yours.

and i may love you. i may
blow the lights out for you
just to set the house on…

by emptying yourself, you empty the world

mimickingmaelstroms:

if you bend your shoulders forward a little more, i swear i’d be able to pour six and a thousand seeds into the hollows of your collarbones and it would still take well over a year for them all to fall to the ground. but between this time and that, the flowers would…

Wow, beaut

kat-howard:

moresongsaboutbuildings:

ridesabike:

Elaine Stritch rests her bike, reads a note, almost causes a riot.      
NEW YORK, June 26—TOLD TO KEEP HER SHIRT ON – Blonde Elaine Stritch, understudy to Ethel Merman in the Broadway hit, “Call Me Madam,” wears halter and shorts which cause her arrest in Central Park. Today she was fined $1 and told by Magistrate Emilio Jones, “A beautiful girl like you could cause a small riot and cause a large crowd to collect by removing your shirt.” “Well,” she replied, “I was there all day and nothing happened.” (AP, 1951)

An inspiration to aspiring dames, broads and good-time girls everywhere. RIP, Ms Stritch.

She was phenomenal. 



Truly, RIP. Bless your soul

kat-howard:

moresongsaboutbuildings:

ridesabike:

Elaine Stritch rests her bike, reads a note, almost causes a riot.      

NEW YORK, June 26—TOLD TO KEEP HER SHIRT ON – Blonde Elaine Stritch, understudy to Ethel Merman in the Broadway hit, “Call Me Madam,” wears halter and shorts which cause her arrest in Central Park. Today she was fined $1 and told by Magistrate Emilio Jones, “A beautiful girl like you could cause a small riot and cause a large crowd to collect by removing your shirt.” “Well,” she replied, “I was there all day and nothing happened.” (AP, 1951)

An inspiration to aspiring dames, broads and good-time girls everywhere. RIP, Ms Stritch.

She was phenomenal. 

Truly, RIP. Bless your soul

(via authorsarahdessen)

Stay For The Good Seconds

writingsforwinter:

At the exact instant you were born, when you slid from the womb and arrived into the world like the most valuable piece of luggage from the conveyer belt at the airport, you were several months from death. And at the exact moment you were conceived, you were literally a…

Love letters to ourselves. #whatabeautifulthought

I don’t know what exactly you asking me to go read your blog means. On the one hand, it makes me hopeful that we could be close again and maybe things would go back to what they once were, but honestly that’s just a pipe dream because neither you nor me are who we were. I mean, here you are talking about sex and I haven’t even had my first kiss! Your life seems almost like a movie to me. And you hurt me a lot by not caring at all and bothering about me. So maybe its just my weakness, or perhaps, the best part of my personality, that I always take people back, let them in again and give them a hundred chances to redeem themselves; that I accept that most of the time people aren’t going to want to redeem themselves or say they are sorry for hurting me. I guess that’s just who I am. But this time, I know I won’t get detached or even vulnerable because I’ve gotten over you, so to speak, and I’ve also lost a lot of respect for you at various times. Life can be so strange, gratifying, hurtful, scary, exhilarating at all the times that we least expect it. Just like I can’t depend on much stability in life, I can’t depend on much stability from you.

"People really don’t like to hear success explained away as luck — especially successful people. As they age, and succeed, people feel their success was somehow inevitable. They don’t want to acknowledge the role played by accident in their lives. There is a reason for this: the world does not want to acknowledge it either.
[…]
Life’s outcomes, while not entirely random, have a huge amount of luck baked into them. Above all, recognize that if you have had success, you have also had luck — and with luck comes obligation. You owe a debt, and not just to your Gods. You owe a debt to the unlucky."

Princeton University’s 2012 Baccalaureate Remarks | Princeton.edu

(via i-andloveandyou)

(Source: megcouch, via how-itallbegan)

http://mostlyfiction.tumblr.com/post/71493996675/i-fall-in-love-every-day-i-fall-in-love-with

mostlyfiction:

I fall in love every day. I fall in love with people, places, and repetitive schedules. I fall in love with right timing, fresh paper, and half glasses of red wine that should have been gone hours ago. I fall in love with women who’s names I cannot pronounce, and I fall in love with men who are…

Maybe

And reading your stories and studying your blog and thinking about you, I realise that maybe I like you and I want you because you answer my loneliness. For some reason, I feel like you will be that person who I don’t feel lonely around. That one person who I truly do not have to hold back from, who I do not have to tell a single lie to.

Once I was told I would always feel lonely, but maybe with you I wont.

Limbo of Longing

And then there suddenly comes that point in time, when you’re perhaps reading the newspaper or just drinking coffee or maybe listening to a favourite song, that you realise that its not over. It never was. You still care indefinitely and incessantly for that person. Why, you wonder. Why do I care so much? How can it be that someone you meet for just a day or two can leave with such a deep sense of longing?

And then you sit down and begin to cry. And you want to cry and cry and just cry it out, for god’s sake, and forget that person. But eyes refuse to water and your heart refuses to break and you remain stuck in that imbo of longing.

wind chimes and laughter

I hate how you managed to make me feel that day - like I’d know you forever, and like you’d know me too. How wrong I was. That long bus journey turned into a seamless mass of nothing and no conversations. All that late night whispering and laughter, telling the most random teacher stories and talking about music and how “looks don’t matter”. And was I fool to think that all that would translate into something. That when I woke up day after day, yours would be a name etched into my skin and rolling off my tongue with ease. I don’t know if you know this, but I like difficult people. People with strange pasts, strange insecurities. The unpopular, unloved ones. Because I am one of those. By and large, a number in the masses. 

But it feels like you’ve got me hanging on a string, like a wind chime going off in the corner of your room that you don’t pay much attention to. A wind chime that keeps ringing in the hope that maybe, you’ll stop what you’re doing, turn around and notice. And listen. Really listen, for those sounds that are practically impossible to hear. Those micro-sounds, which, however small, are really the heart of the wind chime. 

And I so hang on that string, as my patience wears out, waiting for you to pause and maybe just ask me for my number. So I can know that my ringing bells don’t go unheard. And so I can continue to chime till notice me again.