Anonymous: Time is a cold wind blowing through the leaves of a tired old tree I sit beneath. Where I think about the world and I don't know how, what will happen to us now? And oh, how pretty is the middle of June?...

I knew you’d be back

if I never see you again
I will always carry you

on my fingertips
and at brain edges

and in centers
of what I am of
what remains.

Charles Bukowski (via franki-e)
They tell us the people we love are 72.8% water-
there is no such thing as crying,
we are only trying to turn ourselves inside out.
This is a noble pursuit
― Lewis Mundt, excerpt from “Water” (via oktopussy)