Always when I rise to go, your eyes blaze out from a face gone wickedly pale. Edna St. Vincent Millay
Articulacy of fingers, the language of the deaf and dumb, signing on the body, body longing. Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your hands as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders, referenced me with your mark. The pads of your fingers have become printing blocks, you tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my body. Your Morse code interferes with my heart beat. I had a steady heart before I met you, I relied upon it, it had seen active service and grown strong. Now you alter its pace with your own rhythm, you play upon me, drumming me taut.
Jeanette Winterson, from “Written on the Body”
I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. and it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be.
I love her and that is the beginning of everything.F. Scott Fitzgerald (via my-grave-is-temporary)
I want to be taken
like time will one day take me:
blinded and deafened,
hardly able to move,
surrendered and ready
to be riven and ridden.
There’s life on the other side
of being loved like that,
a life where your boundaries
disappear for awhile, a life
where everything is brighter
and your soul has wings.