A small truth

Most town houses in San Francisco boast an ornately crafted cast iron gate on one side of the house, leading down a narrow walkway towards the back entrance. I always expect to peek through these and see ancient climbing vines swallowing the panels and thorny flowers grimacing back at you, in a beautiful rage. I press my face to cold metal and see nothing but blue, green, and black plastic. Trash cans.

If I ever feel better…

Presumptuous, scrumptious. Bizarre.  

a needle wick and deep brown eyes. a need so sick it never tries.

so sick yet it never dies.

A penny minter’s illusion.

Today

I took all my vitamins and did my nails. Not bad for a Monday off.

early-onset-of-night:

Soldiers before, during, and after just one year of war. Photos by Claire Felicie. It has gone on for more than a decade now with no end in sight. Next up, Iran?

early-onset-of-night:

Soldiers before, during, and after just one year of war. Photos by Claire Felicie. It has gone on for more than a decade now with no end in sight. Next up, Iran?

158 notes

[The heart
never fits
the journey.]
Always
one ends
first.
Jack Gilbert, from “Islands and Figs” (via the-final-sentence)

190 notes