Prone to wander : archive message rss

A place for me to swim in my own streams of consciousness
Finally he spoke the three simple words that no amount of bad art or bad faith can ever quite cheapen. She repeated them, with exactly the same slight emphasis on the second word, as though she were the one to say them first. He had no religious belief, but it was impossible not to think of an invisible presence or witness in the room, and that these words spoken aloud were like signatures on an unseen contract. by Ian McEwan, “Atonement” (via lifeinpoetry)
rusticmeetsvintage:

Folk Magazine via Instagram

in my dreams i hear the words you never spoke.

aphelia:

only the sweetest words remain by worteinbildern on Flickr.
I am not this hair,
I am not this skin,
I am the soul that lives within. by Rumi (via godmoves)

(Source: fuckyeahrumi, via godmoves)

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