Oh the glory when you ran outside with your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied and you told me not to follow you.

l-amouur:

"I’m still here

And I still love you.”

I am enjoying my time in this lovely state

I am enjoying my time in this lovely state

I was always attracted not by some quantifiable, external beauty, but by something deep down, something absolute. Just as some people have a secret love for rainstorms, earthquakes, or blackouts, I liked that certain undefinable something.
Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun (via hellanne)

 Dew Magazine Pre-August Issue 2014 por Anna Danilova ph.

 Dew Magazine Pre-August Issue 2014 por Anna Danilova ph.

You know, they straightened out the Mississippi River in places, to make room for houses and livable acreage. Occasionally the river floods these places. “Floods” is the word they use, but in fact it is not flooding; it is remembering. Remembering where it used to be. All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were, what valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that was there and the route back to our original place. It is emotional memory — what the nerves and the skin remember as well as how it appeared. And a rush of imagination if is our “flooding.”
Excerpt from “The Site of Memory,” Toni Morrison, What Moves at the Margin: Selected Nonfiction  (via commovente)
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