I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever. Your leg, my leg, your arm, my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.
—Charles Bukowski (via agneslestrange)
You’re not like the others. I’ve seen a few; I know. When I talk, you look at me. When I said something about the moon, you looked at the moon.
—Ray Bradbury // Fahrenheit 451 (via kvtes)
Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.
—Wallace Stevens (via quotebookshelf)
I drank until you weren’t real.
—Six Word Story (#12)