shapes + fires

Ask her what she craved, and she’d get a little frantic about things like books, the woods, music. Plants and the seasons. Also freedom.

She said she usually cried at least once each day not because she was sad, but because the world was so beautiful & life was so short.

Often I think of myself as riding— Alone, on a bus through western country. I sit above the back wheels, where the jolts are hardest… All journeys, I think, are the same.

We come into the world, alone. And you go out of the world, alone. But in between... It's you, And me.

So stay there 'Cause I'll be coming over While our blood's still young It's so young, it runs We won't stop 'til it's over Won't stop to surrender