Oxymora of Truth
newvagabond:

did-you-kno:

Source

ltlexay:

tehruffles:

Need some bunnehs? :3

peterandcompany:

rosalarian:

nerdaliztix:

wow this is quite powerful

Amazing!

The artwork and concept behind this is just incredible.

What torments me most about your love..
Is that I cannot love you more..
What bothers me most about my senses..
Is that they are only five.. not more..
An exceptional woman such as yourself
Necessitates phenomenal senses..
And exceptional passions..
And extraordinary tears..
And a fourth religion..
That has its teachings, and its rites, and its heaven, and its hell.
An exceptional woman such as yourself..
Needs to have books written for her alone..
And melancholy that is hers alone..
And death that is hers alone..
And an age with millions of rooms..
That only she inhabits..
But, and I am sorry..
I cannot knead the seconds
In the shapes of rings to put on your fingers
For the year is governed by its months
And the months are governed by their weeks
And the weeks are governed by their days
And my days are governed by the succession of night and day
In your violet eyes..

What torments me most about language..is its inadequacy when it comes to you.
And what bothers me most about writing, is that it doesn’t write you..
You are a difficult woman..
My words gasp for air like stallions running up your heights..
My vocabulary cannot cross your lightyear distances..
With you I don’t have a problem..
My problem is with the alphabet..
With 28 letters that don’t allow me to traverse even an inch
On the landscape of your femininity..
And they don’t allow me to offer up a single prayer of gratitude for your beautiful face…
What saddens me about my relationship with you..
Is that you are a woman of plurals..
And language is singular..
So what do you suggest I do?
So that I may make peace with my language..
And end this exile..
Between porcelain and fingers
Between your burnished heights..
And my carriages buried in snow..
Between the ocean of your waist..
And the ambition of my sails..
To discover the roundness of the Earth..

Maybe you approved of me..
Because I made you like the princesses in children’s books
And I drew you like the angels on the rooftops of churches..
But I do not approve of myself..
I should have drawn you more accurately.
I should have better scattered roses and gold around your being..
But time ambushed me.
While I was caught between cooper.. and milk..
Between drowsiness.. and the sea..
Between the fingernails of lust.. and the flesh of mirrors..
Between the diagonal lines.. and the straight lines..
Maybe you approve of any poem of love. That is recited to you..
But I am not content with your approval..
Hundreds of words have requested to meet me..
But I don’t meet them..
Hundreds of poems..
Wait for hours in waiting rooms..
But I apologize to these poems..
I’m not looking for a poem for a woman..
But I am looking for your ‘poem’….
From Nizar Qabbani’s Exceptional Love for an Exceptional Woman (via levantineviper)
thefrogman:

[reddit]

thewillowwitch:

I’m capturing this for the use of the Pagan community

Because let’s admit it

This is us

EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US

Trolling people but in reality we’re half serious