Olga Wisinger-Florian (Austrian, 1844 - 1926), Autumn Leaves


Olga Wisinger-Florian (Austrian, 1844 - 1926), Autumn Leaves

(via hajandrade)


(Source: inmood08, via makeloveoutofwords)

KD - Blue (via the-extraordinary-mind)

(via lzlabseesu)

you asked me what it feels like to love someone who doesn’t love me back,
and that’s hard and cold and cruel,
but here’s how it is:
unrequited love is the winter in your bones that takes hours to go away.
it’s the irony of sunshine at a funeral.
it’s days when my mind is thunder and my hands are earthquakes,
and you’re too busy taking cover to see that I’m cracking.
it’s airplane crashes and the pilot shouting over the intercom, 
and it’s always untangleing your oxygen mask first.
this love is The Giver, 
when Jonah sees the apple change in middair and knows he’s found something wonderful.
this love is reckless and maybe I shouldn’t tell my secrets to a boy who can’t remember the shape of my face,  
but my god, I see color in you.
and I’ve only just now realized that I’d been living in black and white.

Watercolour… AKA I have no idea what I’m doing


Watercolour… AKA I have no idea what I’m doing

Mark Strand, from “The Next Time,” AGNI (no. 45, 1997)

(Source: hiddenshores, via apoetreflects)

It could have been another story, the one that was meant
Instead of the one that happened. Living like this,

Hoping to revise what has been false or rendered unreadable
Is not what we wanted. Believing that the intended story

Would have been like a day in the west when everything
Is tirelessly present—the mountains casting their long shadow

Over the valley where the wind sings its circular tune
And trees respond with a dry clapping of leaves—was overly

Simple no doubt, and short-sighted. For soon the leaves,
Having gone black, would fall, and the annulling snow

Would pillow the walk, and we, with shovels in hand, would meet,
Bow, and scrape the sidewalk clean. What else would there be

This late in the day for us but desire to make amends
And start again, the sun’s compassion as it disappears.

A2K writes (via a2kdavis)


All your sweet rays
soak in night’s harbour,

They only seem so
far away while I’m
standing so still. My
mind is steel, yet it
bends on it’s knees,
the heart gets weak,
racing strong on you.

And only once, did I,
sing you something new?

Nothing’s far from
true. Soon some day,
you’ll rain, you’ll rain.
Sobering, your sweet,
sweet rays, and there
will come some time,
you’ll rain, you’ll rain.

© A2Kdavis 2012


Christian Schloe


Christian Schloe


(via casabet64)


huong2952: Time

I asked Time if she heals

She looked at me with pity and sorrow:

'Child, the Dark Space is vacuous

and indifferent,

I am powerless!

The flower smiled for a day,

bent her head

and withered.

Clouds disintegrated into rain,

Wind dissipated

and the sun set.

Child, what you asked of me

in a thousand years

I have tried

to no avail;

I am tired and no wiser.

You and I

We follow the sun’s shadow,

My journey is eternal,

Yours, ephemeral.

Sometimes wounds do not heal.


Let your heart sigh,

Even the brightest stars die…’