Too Many Words, Not Enough Ink

I write for a living, Let me ramble

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I have a habit of falling in love with souls who have yet to be at peace with their bodies, their minds, their weaknesses. I try to build them, to find the parts of them that are missing in me. I end up with holes in my chest.
Farah Gabdon  (via amourstatique)

(Source: larmoyante, via psych-facts)

314 notes

In your arms I forget what the yarn knows of sweaters.
I forget how to hold myself together.
So if I unfold now like a love letter tell me you’ll write back soon.
Andrea Gibson, ‘Yarn’ (via loverofstories)

(via s-emi-colon)