Valentina. Smitten with words.


Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

(Source: aseaofquotes, via hayhasyou)

(via gettfukt)

it was like…. every time I coughed
he was escaping me somehow.
Every time I opened a door,

every time I brushed my hair

every time I exhaled…
he was leaving all over again.
I would find myself crying at the end of the night when I knew I had forgotten how he smelled or the way he said hello when he was tired or sad or angry or exuberant.
i was losing parts of him, slowly
and quickly,
always at the same time.

I remember that his birthday is in December
and the first thing he ever painted was a flower
for his mom on mother’s day.
I could probably tell you his favorite foods
and the first thought he has every morning,
but soon I will no longer remember.

even that will be gone.

Amanda Helm, Forgetting You Every Minute  (via amandaspoetry)

(via amandaspoetry)

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Memento Mori, Graphite & Digital Media, 11” x 17”, 2014.

Remember that you’re only mortal, little knight. Prints here.

(Source: torielovescats, via clemintinecutie)

All these years, I’ve been opening the window and making love to the world.
—Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five (via introspectivepoet)
Americans are forever searching for love in forms it never takes, in places it can never be. It must have something to do with the vanished frontier.
—Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle (via introspectivepoet)
Now I have expanded my life to accommodate my thoughts about you, and there is hardly a quarter of an hour of my waking time when I haven’t thought about you, and many quarter-hours when I do nothing else.
Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice (via petrichour)

(Source: freaking3eek, via lifeinpoetry)

Her soul!

Her soul is consumed by this longing.

—Sappho, from Atthis (via violentwavesofemotion)

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If you can see a future without me and that doesn’t break your heart then we’re not doing what I thought we were doing here.
—That 70’s Show - via temperare-te (via perfect)

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body comparative

(via clemintinecutie)

When you’re young, thunderstorms seem scary. Like the sky is angry at you. But now that I’m older, something about its roar soothes me; it’s comforting to know that even nature needs to scream sometimes.
—Unknown  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: c0ntemplations, via cincodegayo)