“He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk: I said I should fall asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine.”—Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights (via -novocainekisses)
I was unafraid, I was a boy, I was a tender age melic in the naked, knew a lake and drew the lofts for page hurdle all the waitings up, know it wasn’t wedded love 4 long minutes end and it was over it’d all be back and the frost took up the eyes
pressed against the pane could see the veins and there was poison out resting in a raze the inner claims I hadn’t breadth to shake searching for an inner clout, may not take another bout honey in the hale could fill the pales of loving less with vain hon, it wasn’t yet the spring
aiming and it sunk and we were drunk and we had fleshed it out nose up in the globes, you never know if you are passing out no it wasn’t maiden-up, the falling or the faded luck hung up in the ivory, both were climbing for a finer cause love can hardly leave the room with your heart
Gotta love 5:00 am baths to try and soak the smell of bonfire out of my skin and my hair. Laying in the water with the dawn sliding in through the open window, listening to the raindrops, playing Bon Iver softly. I think I might be happy.
“We seemed to breathe more freely, a lighter air, an air of adventure. Faraway countries, heroic deeds, beautiful women whirled around in our turbulent imaginations. But in tired eyes which nevertheless refused to sleep, a pair of green dots representing the world I’d left mocked the freedom I sought, hitching their image to my fantasy flight across the lands and seas of the world.”—Che Guevara, The Motorcycle Diaries