do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed—
(via larmoyante)
(via larmoyante)
Let it pass; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Sensible Thing(via weltenwellen)
*crushes my emotions with my bare hands* as I was saying,
