Love is like the rain. It comes in a drizzle sometimes. Then it starts pouring and if you’re not careful it will drown you

—Edwidge Danticat, Breath, Eyes, Memory

hit ‘em with a little bit of crazy, hit ‘em with a little bit of love.

hit ‘em with a little bit of crazy, hit ‘em with a little bit of love.

There are only these: sparkling eyes, smudged lipstick, fading starlight, the crunching of feet on gravel, laughter, and a slow walk home.

—Jon McGregor, If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things

where’s the happy in the middle? where’s the moon when i shine?

where’s the happy in the middle? where’s the moon when i shine?

I also know there are timeless waters, endless seas, and lots of people in this world whose names don’t matter to anyone but themselves. I look up at the sky and I see you there.

—Edwidge Danticat, Krik? Krak!

but what would i do with you? is it the chase i love? i’ve only ideas of you. and no concept of us.

but what would i do with you? is it the chase i love? i’ve only ideas of you. and no concept of us.

Forget safety.
Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation.
Be notorious.

Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi

everyone will make mistakes. without the sour, the sweet wouldn’t taste.

everyone will make mistakes. without the sour, the sweet wouldn’t taste.

These are the ruins I mapped onto my body so I might always be lost.

Traci Brimhall

i got a nighttime shudder and a lion within. i got a brain-tricked hunger, and you’re pulling me in.

i got a nighttime shudder and a lion within. i got a brain-tricked hunger, and you’re pulling me in.

Oh. To be filled with goodness then shattered by goodness, so beautifully mosaically fragmented by such shocking goodness.

—Ali Smith,┬áThe Accidental

the sea is wine red, this is the death of beauty. the doves have died. the lovers have lied.

the sea is wine red, this is the death of beauty. the doves have died. the lovers have lied.

Outside the leaves on the trees constricted slightly; they were the deep done green of the beginning of autumn. It was a Sunday in September. There would only be four. The clouds were high and the swallows would be here for another month or so before they left for the south before they returned again next summer.

—Ali Smith, The Whole Story and Other Stories

kiss goodbye, a dozen times before we get there. why do i need anyone else, when i can break the sky myself?

kiss goodbye, a dozen times before we get there. why do i need anyone else, when i can break the sky myself?

I know I should just leave. Just go. Because there’s a point where a mistake turns into a big mistake, and I should probably come to my senses before I get there.

—David Levithan, Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List

NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY