I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it’s drenched in sunlight and it’s weightless and I know it’s not cheap. It’s probably not even real.
― Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves (via larmoyante)
take me to your trees. take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. take me to your fingers.
― Margaret Atwood (via lovebunnypumpkin)