Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet.
Alain de Botton (via oofpoetry)

(via grapholalia)

Some Days It Feels Like…

I’ve lost myself,
in the tunnels of trying
and the drink of life
is hiding me in pieces,
all over this dreadful town
I’ve only found a few pockets,
places in time that
remind me where I’ve been,
simple little winnings, where
once I used to dream of grandiosity.

I think it’s very healthy to spend time alone. You need to know how to be alone and not be defined by another person.
Oscar Wilde (via sne)

(via hartmandaxo)

Little Broken Wing

I’m broken apart,

scattered pieces that linger

in the branches of my growth,

but I don’t seem to come upon

the leaves I thought I’d turned,

I’m not pollenating 

as if I believe in my soul anymore.

Look through my sky,

find a bird you’d join to perch

with on the windowsill of my heart,

cooling in the breeze and

starting to understand what I mean

when I say I’m still broken.

Look at the smudge,

the mud I have all over my hands

and you will see

how hard I’m digging for some sunlight,

still brandishing a few scars

that need mending.