The body shuts down when it has too much to bear; goes its own way quietly inside, waiting for a better time, leaving you numb and half alive.

Jeanette Winterson (via amandaonwriting)

I am made for autumn. Summer and I have a fickle relationship, but everything about autumn is perfect to me. Wooly jumpers, Wellington boot, scarves, thin first, then thick, socks. The low slanting light, the crisp mornings, the chill in my fingers, those last warm sunny days before the rain and the wind. Her moody hues and subdued palate punctuated every now and again by a brilliant orange, scarlet or copper goodbye. She is my true love.

A recipe for Rowan Jelly by Alys Fowler  (via dandelion-days)

My friend once told me
she liked this guy because of his hands
And I found it absurd that anyone
would develop feelings over one feature,
and not care about the rest

It wasn’t until you used your hands
to cup the back of my neck the first time we kissed
and I could feel your firm grasp pull me closer,
and my insides exploded
and my head buzzed with bliss.

And the first night you slept over,
you fell asleep with your hand
laid over my stomach
and your fingers felt like a fire
that I didn’t mind burning my skin.

The first time we got drunk,
was the first time you played with my hair,
and my god I was hooked,
I’d drink forever if it meant you’d never stop.

And in public you’d hold my hand,
and rub your thumb in little circles
that left me wanting you more,
no matter what you would never let me go,
I was glued to you,
and I honestly didn’t mind

When we talked about breaking up,
you saw my lips quiver with fear,
and you brushed over my lips with your fingers
before pulling me into your lap
and you kissed me like never before.
With your hands on my hips
pulling me so close to you,
leaving no space in between us.
It was then I realized I never wanted you to go

Its now that,
I finally understand why hands
were the only feature that mattered

Hands: Carol Shlyakhova (via dandelion-days)

All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that’s the tragedy of living.

Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You (via hefuckin)

She stepped out into the clear, windy night, walked to the telegram office on Broadway, and let him know that he needn’t come to her window—she would meet him at the dock.

Helene Wecker, from The Golem and the Jinni (via the-final-sentence)