Those that will judge
will say you’re aloof
but you know the truth is a seed
you know what you need
is a conflagration

Cause when I see your blood
and the bits of your broken tooth
it gives me the proof that I need
it’s the proof that you bleed

It’s a revelation
yeah it’s a revelation…

I didn’t know what you were made of
color of your blood what you’re afraid of

- Andrew Bird, MX Missiles

“I don’t suppose I really know you very well – but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder.”

— Zelda Fitzgerald (a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald, November 1931)

All faults of Zelda aside, this excerpt is damned good. The sort of thing that should be scribbled down and carried around in pockets.

(via theotherway.tumblr.com)(via aclockwithouthands)

I only dreamt of touching the hem of your dress and you seared and scarred my hands.

“The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even during the day with covers pulled up to my chin. It was good in there, nothing ever occurred in there, no people, nothing.”

— Charles Bukowski, Ham On Rye (via saisonlune)

(Source: light-essence, via saisonlune)