Braille
Those lines upon her wrist are braille
Each tells a piece of the story
Of heartache, of tragedy
A slow, ache for death — For eternal rest
But she could not press hard enough
For the braille told a tale of hope.
June 2013
1 post
April 2013
4 posts
March 2013
5 posts
February 2013
3 posts
Here’s my heart, do with it what you will, what you must.
It is yours to cherish, hold, or break.
January 2013
12 posts
“Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I’m never not thinking of you.”
—Virginia Woolf, Selected Letters (via sorakeem)
I just want to runaway, go camping — leave
But how do you escape from yourself?
I love your faults,
your imperfections
