the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own
the wreckage of stars
i. ii. iii. iv.
Let’s be the stars and skies and fields, let’s crash into the other to take the form of everything in the merging of our souls, let’s be the winds and blazing suns and frigid snowfalls, let’s be the blossoming roses too, then take the form of nothingness, invisible and hard to grasp, coursing through thin air to mark our madness in a ghost’s substance, feared by all and bigger than fear. Let’s be between forever and never at all.
You’re not a mess, you’re brave for trying.

Georgia Whots to Rakishi, “On Grey Seas” cir. 1947  (via saintofsass)