Always when I rise to go, your eyes blaze out from a face gone wickedly pale. Edna St. Vincent Millay
A tourist goes to see something. A traveler sees it along the way.
Gentlemen’s Wisdom (via natashakills)(Source: lifestyleoftheunemployed.com)
My father is selling his home, where we grew up, so he can live by the ocean. It’s not really the house, but the land he loved. Every day he would walk in the woods no matter the weather. He would teach me a little about the sky though it never turned out to be true. Collecting stones, only some of them were artifacts, and he placed them in each room. All night, “Wake up, do you see a face?” and you’d have to go downstairs and see a face in the rocks. If you didn’t see it then something was wrong with you. Or worse; him. So I always chose to see the face. I helped him pack these rocks yesterday. And I just looked at one and said, “Yeah. this one, for real, maybe this one, Dad.
They lay beside each other in bed.
She is sleeping.
He is awake.
She always falls asleep before he does.
The sound of her breathing calms him.
It pushes the ghosts out from his rooms.
With the backs
of his fingers he rubs her elbow, and listens.
He wishes to pluck her heart
like an eyelash or a flower
from her chest
and make an infinite map out of it.
She knows he must use his hands to make things.
His hands are restless things.
He talks with them, like blind birds.
He uses them to hold her.
In the morning, he will make tea with them.
They will drink from the same cup.
(Source: pigmenting)
“The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.”
Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
(Source: szarlottka)
Afterward,
my hand is a planchette
underneath yours,
and neither of us know
if one of us moves it
or if a spirit has come
to search our wet flesh
for remnants of ecstasy.
Reflections
by Nadya Johnson
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This looks a lot like the barn I used as an art studio post-college upon return to Ohio. I had my studio space and then, by the open doors overlooking a creek, we’d set up an old iron bed and would lug down matresses out there when well, when one of us had a gentleman caller. Open barn, creek, candles, and a big old feather bed…