In Vino Veritas

"I can almost understand why people leap from bridges."

- Charles Bukowski, The Difficulty of Breathing (via perfect)

(Source: decembrist, via bird-breath)


I promise to love you:

at 6 am when you’re waking
to go to work, to school, or whatever
road life takes you on;
and when you didn’t sleep well,
your hair is a mess
and your eyes are sleepy.

at 8 am when we say goodbye
for the day and you’re rushing
out the door with a cup
of black coffee, after finishing
a morning cigarette
when your lips taste like
caffeine and nicotine.

at 3 pm when you’re exhausted
from the day and people have
worn you out and you feel like
sighing, crying, and falling asleep
and escaping in afternoon dreams.
I will kiss your forehead,
and wrap myself in your arms.

at 10 pm when you’re heading to bed,
even though you won’t sleep for hours
and you’ll flip through all the channels
tired of dismal newscasts and re-runs.
Especially when we become a human knot
wrapped up in sheets and kisses

at 3 am when loneliness and sadness
do not destroy you, but consume you
and when you weep without an explanation
I’ll kiss your lips, softly and
tell you you’re the absolute best.
When we talk about life
and why winter kills the flowers.

I will love you when you grow old,
I will love you even after that
I will love you if I’m no longer here
I will love you
I will love you
and I will love you.




I promise to love you forever (for Louis) by Amanda Katherine Ricketson (via cyberunfamous)


(via thatfuckinglesbian)

(Source: -poetic, via bird-breath)

"He looked at me like I was crazy. Most of my lovers do, and that’s partly why they love me, and partly why they leave."

- Jeanette Winterson (via unculturedmag)

How strange that this place in the pit of my gut I used reside in so much in the past, I had almost totally forgotten about.
I am back being the me I have complete confidence in my in-confidence about; and it’s the only familiar thing I know, but it also reminds me that the familiar is hugely unwanted, desolate, and poses great damage to my being.
An existential conflict between the past, present, and that niche in time and space that seems somehow absolute, no matter where I am chronologically in life.

I think that perhaps certain kinds of people use their sadness as a means to obtain identity, individuality, partition from such a vast sea of better-thans and more-thans..