shoulderblades:

strane attrazioni, jan welters for marie claire italy, april 2001

18 May, 2013

(feelings flow, through
the silk of our tongues
a glass rose blooms

our moments are a
feverish dream,
love shimmers

and fades to sleep)
a darkness
fills our
silences—

loneliness awaits

(shadows seep
into the walls,
in the heat of the sun

i can sense the
reckless flutter
of a broken wing

we kiss again)

nostalgic-dreaming:

- by Mira Heo on Flickr.

(Source: la-vie-lente)

(Source: yimmyayo)

"All sorts of things in the world behave like mirrors."

Jacques Lacan, ‘Seminar II’  (via blackspaceandstars)

(Source: aidsnegligee)

vampyrism:

 

magrittee:

Rene Magritte - Love Disarmed

I had my headphones on as I was leaving the car after getting home from work today, but somehow the sounds of birds pierced through my music. I stood outside my house for a while, leaning against my car with the music now playing in my pocket. Two blackbirds swooped down through the trees in the heat of a chase. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I’ve always loved the absolute freedom and utter musicality that birds sing with—the way they speak their phrases, the way they use silence. It’s beautiful. They are blessed with the rhythm of nature, something I feel like I’ve lost with age. I want to find that inner spiritual rhythm again. Perhaps it’s buried within my dreams. I know it’s somewhere; nothing is ever truly lost.