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Sunshine and Rainbows

@bbecomingablueberry-blog

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pantone
dephus
Print is predictable and impersonal, conveying information in a mechanical transaction with the reader’s eye. Handwriting, by contrast, resists the eye, reveals its meaning slowly, and is as intimate as skin.

Ruth Ozeki, A Tale for the Time Being (via ohteenscanrelate)

Source: ohteenscanrelate
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madisen
Say, am I more than dust when the wind curls in under the door. Say, do you twitch in your sleep when dreams are just a fall we aren’t prepared for. Say, does the cold rattle your chest when coughing is a respite we’ve come to love more. Say, could you wait here a moment the blue fire burns the lines from my fingers and I don’t know what deaths got in store.

Michel Lazzaro  | Waiting in the wings  (via elzaro)

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madisen
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heartcountry
My heart is a stone I skip across the river. Not a single wave is made.  I forgive the stillness. Sometimes the words just aren’t there  anymore.  I don’t have the hands to carry the love I ask for in prayers. A highway full of people all headed somewhere, and I’ll never know them past these roads. Do the oceans think about what they’ve taken? Do they mourn the countries erased from maps? My heart is a stone tied around the ankle of everyone I love. I forgive the eventual untying. Sometimes I think of a name and I don’t let go of it. My body is stubborn. It holds on to secrets even I don’t know about. I stopped writing because what’s left to say? I’m lonely. My heart is a ghost story, and I forgive the haunting. My big fear is that no one else will.

Y.Z, Lightning Bug Gone Quiet (via rustyvoices)