Что почитать: свежие записи из разных блогов

I like high places now, and night. I’ve come to associate altitude and darkness with a kind of tenderness–it’s a time when I let my mind wander, when I dream, when my cigarettes seem to taste different. It’s the time when I love you.

I adore you, but I hate you too. You’re a prison smothered in flowers. I can’t stand this enchantment anymore, I can’t stand being bewitched like this–when I look at you, my gaze turns to nothing but a mirror of light, I’ll stare at you hypnotized for ages, and when I stop seeing you I’ll feel you, and when I stop feeling you I’ll die.

I would love to talk to you about many things and see you listening silently; to read to you sometime.

I gave you my young, living soul. And that gift left me empty within - soulless.

I came to look оn you as a thing hallowed. You became for me a sacred being, not to be touched save in adoring thoughts.

I, too, can press a knife, inflict the healing wound.

I see the classic statues dripping blood.