I need someone whose mind falls like a chopper on a block; to whom the pitch of absurdity is sublime, and a shoe-string adorable. To whom I can expose the urgency of my own passion? Louis is too cold, too universal. There is nobody here among these grey arches, and moaning pigeons, and cheerful games and tradition and emulation, all so skilfully organized to prevent feeling alone. Yet I am struck still as I walk by sudden premonitions of what is to come. — the waves, virginia woolf

narcissus opens, blooms
in liquid paragraphs
plump deltas mingling
strings that bind stray
chapter & adverse

yet books of shriveled rivers shut
their shining mirrors shatter
scatter into static snow
blind grief, the retina

― Sophia Pandeya, Watermarks (via thewriterscaravan)

hm. yes lawd.

My favorite thing about Michelangelo is how he made a great bonfire of all his preliminary sketches so no one would know how hard he worked and everyone would think he was naturally gifted.
― Dig Yourself (via howitzerliterarysociety)
Having shared the contours of my soul in subdued imagery I know longer knew what words to use in conversation.
― (via howitzerliterarysociety)