I’m currently falling asleep as I walk home. Maybe I’ll wander on to a moonbeam and myself wrapped in moon pillows, and blankets made of shooting stars and dust, and every little whimper of a snore I exhale will be plucked with a kiss from your lips. Tragic magic. Magic because it’s the moon, and your kisses, and your voice, but tragic because you’re not as near as I wish you are or perceive you to be because it is merely a dream. At least when I come back to reality I know for a fact you live here too, and if I really wanted to see you, and hear you, and speak to you, and touch you, I can. That’s not farfetched or out of this world, though most of the time I feel lost between pages, slowly writing and illustrating a home for the two of us and everyone we love and whom love us too.
1 month ago // 0 notes
Day Joy - New Ordinary
1 month ago // 2 notes
Doris Troy - Whatcha Gunna Do About It?
This should be never ending.
2 months ago // 2 notes
What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again. Anais Nin, Henry and June
3 months ago // 7 notes