We need more homonyms;

Mind you, sometimes the angels smoke, hiding it with their sleeves, and when the archangel comes, they throw the cigarettes away: that’s when you get shooting stars.

I’m purrdy clever

Ah, Universe. You are getting trickier everyday.

“I am sorry. Do you.. still want me to stay?”

She looked away from the mirror and gazed at Rachel’s face— full of sadness, marked by that pained expression that exposed all those lines on her forehead. The room is silent, making last night’s memory easier for her to remember no matter how hard she tries to forget. She looks down on the ground, out of words, before finally saying “Do you ever realise how wonderful it is to watch two people embrace in films?”

“I don’t. And honestly, that’s the last thing on my—”

“You get to see their faces, both of their faces, Rachel— the second they press their bodies against each other. You know when one is smiling, or crying 
happy tears, or when one is wishing that it’s not happening instead. Then you’d know exactly what it is they are feeling right at that moment. So here’s the mirror. Come sit beside me, and just hold me, so you can now see for yourself what you’ve been missing out on during all those times I’ve held you and never wanted to let go.”

Je suis désolée.

”..lie for a while with your ear against the earth / and you’ll hear your sister sleeptalking say / “Your hair is long / but not long enough to reach home to me.”

Midnight Coward.

Post-Stars feelings. Waking up to intentions. Oftentimes I want to disappear, too.

Something about sharing a cigarette, that is so intimate.

(Source: tarahelfer)