how simple a torture, the skin of her. i understand why persephone chose the pomegranate. doesn’t my dear have a blush that sets the world on fire. i want to eat her on the church steps and when they say - i am praying for you - i will say. do not worry. i have already taken holy into my mouth.

when fleabag said “i don’t know what to do with it... with all the love i have for her i don’t know where to put it now” and when jane austen wrote “if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more”

what if someone’s out there gazing at the night sky; fascinated by the stars but have eyes for only the one, the same one on which my eyes have been set upon and our minds wander and dream and hope about things that are (almost) unbelievable and suppose somehow someday we run into each other? won’t that feel like a personal connection? like that’s what the stars want, for us to meet 💫

physically speaking i’m alive and at home. emotionally? i’ve been dead at the bottom of a ravine in vermont for 11 days and they just discovered my body due to heavy snowfall burying me for the past week.

All I want is a little more time with you.

no thoughts just vernons smile