Above us, the constellations spun, and the moon paced her weary course.

Madeline Miller, ‘The Song of Achilles’ (via softiejace)

Monday : 5415

ilyiad

“—thinking meantime my own thoughts, living my own life in my own still, shadow-world.”

— Charlotte Brontë, Villette

Monday : 504

poedemron

“I was brave, I resisted, I set myself on fire.”

— Louise Glück, from The Seven Ages (via victoriajoan)

Sunday : 1702

we began of stardust, darling, and to stardust we must return

our bodies belong to the stars | l.h. (via andrewminyrd)

Saturday : 4880

no monster here,
only the shape of a falling star
where your heart should be.
northbound & reaching, a
hero telling her story. it starts
like this: once upon a time,
you rode the dragon
& saved your own life.

NATALIE WEE, EXCERPT OF “HOW TO SAVE YOUR OWN LIFE”, PUBLISHED IN THE RISING PHOENIX REVIEW

Find Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines on Amazon / Goodreads.

(via illuminosity)

Friday : 3389

All things are difficult before they are easy.

Thomas Fuller (via fightostudy)

Friday : 4978

there is a violence within me
that cannot be named
for it is not in anger I feel it
but in sadness
it is a violence that longs to destroy
to burn everything I am
until all that remains is ashes
and I, like everything in the end,
am forgotten.

ashes to ashes, dust to dust | l.h.

Monday : 3

i met a boy yesterday.
i could talk about a lot of things.
i could talk about his hair,
and how it danced in the wind
like so many falling leaves;
or maybe his eyes,
and how they glistened
like the shimmer of an ocean in the sun;
or his smile -
oh god, his smile -
and how it stretched across his face
and my butterflies were replaced by elephants;
or his -
wait,
where was i?
oh! yes,
i could talk about a lot of things,
but i think i’ll keep them
to myself.
for now, all i’ll
talk about is how
he looked at me,
and i felt like my jagged edges
had finally found a home.

about a boy | t.m.

Sunday : 838

Q: Tell me, what do you want to be?
A: More. Is that too much to ask for?

to be more than i am, to be more than i can ever be, that is all i ask for (via vanillasweet)

Sunday : 518

gods, r.l.

nymphhadora

Q: why do we ache for godhood?
A: my hands shake, earthquake trembles too large for mortal form. souls take eons to build and seconds to shred, bloody fingers inches deep in a still-beating heart, blackened tongues and no words left after everything (only gods have eons to heal.) zeus’ splitting headache birthed athena and mine left torn wrists and sick sheets that broke the washer. time preserves nothing. ice melts and bones shatter and angry wasps peel skin off faces covered in dirt. (gods preserve themselves.) rebirth echoes in deserted canyons. decay howls back. flowers die and no one remembers their names. (who can forget a god?) if the lightning in my veins was ever divine it has become nothing more than anxiety. thunderous screams coat lips like honey. humans break so easily: too-white teeth splitting the skin of figs. red is such an ugly color to hold inside. (gods bleed gold.) we will never be something so beautiful that to look hurts, to look destroys, will we? we will never be anything but dust.

Q: why do we ache for godhood?
A, abridged: because we are afraid.

Saturday : 234