Sunday / 467,286 notes / reblog

I’m gonna scream
Sunday / 149,408 notes / reblog
I can describe it as a pain in the head, some central point, a wound which, somehow, had always been there — something slowly and steadily deforming all hope in me; something that forces me to cling to the past and cling and cling — I cling to the blood, I cling to my own ache, I cling to the past and it gets to a point when I can’t even remember without hurting. I do feed off it, do you understand? It’s not the disease anymore, Anne, it is me, I’m telling you it is me! I blindly follow it because I want to know it and it drives me inward, each time all the most inward, and yet I can only use abstract terms to refer to it and then I get mad at myself. Or I am mad. Probably both. Anne, I am not a loser and I am not weak and I have been battling this ever since I can remember myself. And every single time I try to describe it to someone I love, I only end up sounding like a self-centered asshole who is so damn arrogant in her pain. And then I cannot describe it — I fail, I always fail so forgive me […]
Sunday / 1,815 notes / reblog

Jane Birkin still from Les Chemins de Katmandou (1969), dir. André Cayatte
Sunday / 60,121 notes / reblog
Sunday / 24,456 notes / reblog

i don’t want you to leave
Sunday / 88,928 notes / reblog
Sunday / 11,106 notes / reblog
Sunday / 61,585 notes / reblog
Sunday / 56,408 notes / reblog
Sunday / 243 notes / reblog

Jane Birkin
Sunday / 83,480 notes / reblog
I won’t do you the dishonour of writing you in something that stains forever. I’ll follow your winding heart—its changing patterns—its constant going and un-going. I will write you in lead, in chalk, in breathy sighs.
Salma Deera, Writing (via writingwillows)

(via langleav)