Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. Take me to your fingers.
Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst.
I believe pain breeds wolves
and joys give rise to moons.

We grow forests in our bones
so our memories can’t find us.

I believe we hide and haunt ourselves.
How satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface. To make a map of my movement - no matter how temporary.
I remember your eyes: fifty attack dogs on a single leash.

ph. Tom Ordoyno
Two Seated, 1911
euo: Rosanna Jones

euo: Rosanna Jones

(via givesgoodface)

September: it was the most beautiful of words, he’d always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret.