All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.
I can love only what I can place so high above me that I cannot reach it.
The moon seems
full. What is missing
is a dark hungry
sickle, the sliver
of shadow eating
us up inside.
Evie Shockley, “— shall become as —” from a half-red sea, published by Carolina Wren Press. (via seols)
Let me look at you in a light that takes years to get here.
I must have flowers, always, and always.
I don’t want to look back in five years time and think, ‘We could have been magnificent, but I was afraid.’ In 5 years I want to tell of how fear tried to cheat me out of the best thing in life, and I didn’t let it.