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pearly gates

(Source: st-pam)

In my astronomy class we’re learning about light and how through infrared technology you can see the warmth of someone in a seat they long ago stood up from. I find it really wonderful how much of you is left behind, like your body heat and your scent and the mold of your head in a pillow. Even your voice, which is present in the silence after you’ve stopped speaking.

Weird how the absence of something is something itself - the space where you slept is the absence of you, and when the moon is stenciled through lazy-lidded blinds, pouring rays of milky light onto the bed, I see the absence of your once drenched skin.


Some instagram pics from the rainforest house in Madrid’s Botanic Garden


"In a way I admired her. I admired her lack of compunction, the courage of her bad manners, the energy of simple rage. Throwing a bag of spaghetti had a simplicity to it, a recklessness, a careless grandeur. It got things over with. I was a long way, then, from being able to do anything like it myself."
Margaret Atwood, from Cat’s Eye (via violentwavesofemotion)
"I begin to spend time outside my body without falling over. At these times I feel blurred, as if there are two of me, one superimposed on the other, but imperfectly. There’s an edge of transparency, and beside it a rim of solid flesh that’s without feeling, like a scar. I can see what’s happening, I can hear what’s being said to me, but I don’t have to pay any attention. My eyes are open but I’m not there. I’m off to the side."
Margaret Atwood, from Cat’s Eye (via violentwavesofemotion)

overheard in the hallway, from a mother to a child: “you need to stop picking up broken glass up off the ground just because it’s pretty.”