the stance of a broken heart. 3
(Source: ikorra)
(Source: the-golden-hall, via hornwoods)
I spoke to my aunt. She burst into tears and sobbed pleadingly. “I don’t want to go, Clark, I don’t want to go!”
I understood. For her, just outside the door of the concert hall, lay the black pond with the cattle-tracked bluffs; the tall, unpainted house, with weather-curled boards; naked as a tower, the crook-backed ash seedlings where the dishcloths hung to dry; the gaunt, molting turkeys picking up refuse about the kitchen door.
(via sunspearviper)
meanderingwind:
Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, 1929
(Source: likeafieldmouse, via yougladfly)
(Source: lover-of-sadness, via fluffynips)