Bokonon

under the weight of the winter cold, all cleverness has vanished. a heart that shrinks at nothing and is intoxicated at the loss of madness. dreams that once hinted at the grandeur of illusion now detail an existence small enough to calculate. in the darkness of night, the wordless love of another. sharing heat and breath, calm and rich in comfort that opens the senses. 

I am getting older, and my friends keep getting younger. the pressure to be a somebody has eased. instead, i amuse myself with how dangerously fucked up we all are. no one has tried to save us; not our minds and certainly not our souls. i hoped for salvation once, though love made this game too alluring. it’s a quiet life rich with dramatic character and half-hearted self destruction.

I’ll wear my flaws were all can see. no need to hold any pretension of self-improvement.

(via erotobot)