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secretfragileskies posted this
le temps perdu
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documenting plan b:"This rose became a bandanna, which became a house, which became infused with all passion, which became a hideaway, which became yes I would like to have dinner, which became hands, which became lands, shores, beaches, natives on the stones, staring and wild beasts in the trees, chasing the hats of lost hunters, and all this deserves a tone.” - Kenneth Koch
via: themusedaily
image: the drifter and the gypsy
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All you remember of the whole affair are certain words she said in her sleep, the ones that tell you what’s wrong with you: the malady of death. Soon you give up, don’t look for her anymore, either in the town or at night or in the daytime.
Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened.
”—Marguerite Duras, The Malady of Death
