septembrist: by Liz Beasely Clouds thin into form: a hawk pulling a tail of rings—beads of an abacus, the mathematics of light—a lengthening spine, snakeskin no longer inhabited. All day I’m giving a name for what isn’t there. Yet somewhere we’ve left our likeness, the hollow shapes of us. Even though the snake has slipped into the shade, the shed skin, deceptively whole, hidden in the...
He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.– Elbert Hubbard (via thelittlesea)
I like people too much or not at all.– Sylvia Plath (via catmessiah)