May 2012
98 posts
“Do you think you can smoke ants? Like, can you roll them up in a swisher and...”
– Sherman (via gritinthegap)
The shore.
The beach.
The horizon bleak and eternal,
The waves at the end of my toes,
The sand at the core of my bones,
This is what I am, Cornwall through an through.
Nothing more.
This is what defines me. The beach, the sea, the eminent death of my originality.
The sea.
The sea, vile and intoxicating.
Freedom. Purity. Ambition.
Waves lapping around you.
Rising and falling with every...
‘That which is eternal. Neverending and never beginning’
Sylvias Secrets: Last Letter. →
sylviasecret:
What happened that night? Your final night. Double, treble exposure Over everything. Late afternoon, Friday, My last sight of you alive. Burning your letter to me, in the ashtray, With that strange smile. Had I bungled your plan? Had it surprised me sooner than you purposed? Had I rushed it back…
