I don't want to live in a world where she's not there. Not yet.

Can I be selfish now? Can I ask for a miracle?

Virginia Woolf, from The Waves

At my core I'm just someone who deeply loves people.

Emily Dickinson, from a letter to C. H. Clark (May 1, 1883)

I miss writing.

I want to cry, I miss him already.

i love you birdsong at 1am i love you cherry blossom petals on the street i love you golden light lengthening and lengthening i love you coatless evenings i love you wood pigeons crooning spectacularly outside my window i love you new leaves and new leaves and new leaves i love you magpies gathering nest materials i love you rosebuds finally arriving i love you first bees of the season going absolutely wild in the dandelions

Help, I'm in love with my roommates, I want to marry them both.

You know... I was on that train. And all I could think of was how I wanted to go back to that summer.

And I'll never know a thing about the cute guy sitting on the other side. Cute and boring. I'd steal his clothes but that's about it.

I know now that i loved you.

The swallows are back, it's spring, the sky is clear and I want to sleep on the grass, I want to bury my nose in the wisteria flowers like a bumble bee.

i love embraces that say “I see your pain and I’ll hold you through it.” shoulder headrests that speak “i know you’re tired, I’ll hold you up.” hand holding that says “you’re so far away but I’m here to ground you.” just all the unspoken love that consumes us in all that we do.

“Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”

— For M, Mikko Harvey (via metamorphesque)

“…and when I think of you all my skin smells of lilies of the valley.”

— Claude de Burine, from The Visitor: Poems; “The Other Life,” c. 1990

— Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath

[text ID: Outside it is warm and blue and April.]

notes he'd leave under your pillow // min yoongi #1

I moved into the new apartment. You'll probably never see it. But it has you written all over it. The faux wood floor, the cream coloured walls, the clawfoot tub. I wanted to text you after seeing the burgundy armchair. Then I remembered. What you told me the night you packed your things and left the drawer empty. How weird it feels that I don't have to keep another toothbrush anymore, just in case you forgot yours at home. It doesn't quite make sense to me that you won't see how the sunset hits the bathroom window everyday at 4:50 in the afternoon. That I won't see how the golden light hits your hair in that copper hue that left me hypnotised. I signed the lease after seeing the light from the window. There's a pillow next to mine which doesn't make sense if your head is not resting on it. If I don't wake up whining on a Sunday morning because, no, I didn't like when your hair got caught in my mouth. But, yes, I did like hearing your sleepy giggles first thing in the morning.

Forgive me for saying this, but I think I would do everything all over again. I'm sure I would do everything all over again.

Blessed to live in a world where you can sit next to a body of water.

I rose this morning early as usual, and went to my desk. But it’s spring, and the thrush is in the woods, somewhere in the twirled branches, and he is singing. And so, now, I am standing by the open door. And now I am stepping down onto the grass. I am touching a few leaves. I am noticing the way the yellow butterflies move together, in a twinkling cloud, over the field. And I am thinking: maybe just looking and listening is the real work. Maybe the world, without us, is the real poem.

Mary Oliver, from the book of time