redamancying

where the heart is

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She reminds him of every good day he’s ever had. Every summer spent in fields of grass. Every sunrise. Every sunset. She tastes like dew and smells like light. And when she speaks, it’s like someone slowly plucking the strings of a guitar, a sadly beautiful song starting to play, all his own. And he loves her. He loves her like he can never grab enough of her between his fingers. And no matter how close he gets, even when they make love, it never feels close enough, like her flesh and her bones keep something sacred in them, hidden from him.
Paragraph from Chapter 3 of Intentional Dissonance, the future novel from the writer of I Wrote This For You. This is gonna be the most beautiful novel, I can’t wait to read it.  (via theglasschild)
22 hours ago -922 notes-reblog

messysouls:

i want my children to grow up barefoot running through the woods. I want them to know the feeling of the trees growing around them, to recognize the gurgle of a stream before they see it, to know the taste of a blackberry from a bush long before the taste of a chip. I want my children to experience the earth we came from through touch, not pictures, and video games. And I want to be right there with them through all of it.

3 days ago -17,165 notes-reblog