The World Burned While Atlas Watched (no, That Isn’t Right) Atlas Died Screaming, Trying To Save Those

Her disintegration went down a shaft of phases, every one more racking than the last; for the human brain can become the best torture house of all those it has invented, established and used in millions of years, in millions of lands, on millions of howling creatures.

Vladimir Nabokov, Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle (via quotespile)

you were my world and now i can’t imagine you in it

funny how memories can become so distant

you were once the love of my life

now you’re just someone i knew once upon a time

every now and then i see you in my dreams

it doesn’t hurt; i don’t cry or wish you were here

i hope you’re happy. i hope you’ve found someone who makes all your problems disappear

sometimes love doesn’t last

sometimes our first isn’t our last

sometimes there’s better to come

and one day we’ll once again believe in love

— i’m drunk and this is what i want u to know

Immortality

Immortality. Tell me, is it worth it?

Is it worth it, proud Hera of marriage, to watch divorce become the norm, to watch marriage become a farce?

Is it worth it, lovely Aphrodite of love, to watch people fall in fake love, to watch the mortals police what kind is allowed?

Is it worth it, brilliant Athena of wisdom, to watch them misuse your gift, to use their minds to hurt others?

Is it worth it, mystic Persephone, to watch your flowers wither in the too hot spring sun, to watch more and more souls collect on the bank of Styx?

Is it worth it, pure Hestia, to watch families become chaotic, to watch more and more mortals living without a home?

Is it worth it, wild Artemis, to watch your forests be reduced to twigs, to watch the creatures you so sacredly pursue become endangered?

Is it worth it, mother of nature Demeter, to watch the earth suffer, to watch it bleed sickness and pollution?

Is it worth it, powerful Hecate, to watch the mortals forget about the magic in everything, to watch the little witch in young girls’ eyes burn out sooner and sooner?

Is it worth it, you pitiful mortals, to be forsaken and forgotten just as you forsake and forget?

Immortality. Was it worth it?

–Selcouth-Saudade

I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it — to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once.

— Haruki Murakami

There’s a graveyard inside my mouth because I buried all these words before they had a chance to leave my lips, and I promise I’ve tried to dig them out, but they’ve turned into skeletons that can’t make a sound.

Alexa Evangelista, the book i’ll never finish writing  (via vodkakilledtheteen)

We belonged to each other, but had lived so far apart that we belonged to others now.

André Aciman, Call Me By Your Name (via terxture)

valentines day is coming up,, if you ever wanted to gift me a sword with an engraved romantic message,,, now is the time

Time passes you by...

Slowly and all at once as vivid as the shining amber lights on the wet concrete at night.

Walking on that burnt orange stone, home, home.

I look to the past and it's forgotten.

I'm standing outside in the driving rain, it ushers me away.

Pressed up to the window panes, fogging up sodden glass.

Looking at a stranger's past.

That little room with its sandy paint and coffee curtains.

Lights snapped on and Nora Jones sings out of the stereo.

It's soft and milky.

Clouding and brewing softly.

Time.

Past is present and present is future.

And it's all already passed me by.

I flip through shining photos and those familiar faces smile at the ghosts behind the long, lost cameras.

Choppy hair and sharply slit winds softened by a flash decades ago.

Moments so dear, a sun so golden, people lost to ticking clocks, they forgot long ago.

And they kept it all down.

Those shining cards with their little people.

The faces you see in the warm ripples of a bath.

No malice, just ghosts.

Ghosts of happy days and burnt orange stones.

Do you remember their names?

Did they ever learn mine?

I walk and I know I'm already gone.

Just a face in a photo.

I stand faded in smooth cards on Christmases and birthday nights in orange lights.

Smiling and laughing.

Running on tiles, on wood, on carpet, sand and stone.

I stand young and small.

I doubt I could even tell you why these photos exist now.

But they did.

Those people breathed that long lost air and time thawed once the flash faded.

We carry on.

Until the next photo's taken

Bringing sexy back - Vikki Dougan walking down the street, 1950.