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teachingliteracy: “if people were rain, she was a drizzle and i was a hurricane” (by Miz Litchell) Just like that. From a hundred miles an hour to asleep in a nanosecond. I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane Looking for Alaska. John Green http://peopleraindrizzlehurricane.tumblr.com/

teachingliteracy:

“if people were rain, she was a drizzle and i was a hurricane” (by Miz Litchell)

Just like that. From a hundred miles an hour to asleep in a nanosecond. I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane

Looking for Alaska. John Green

http://peopleraindrizzlehurricane.tumblr.com/

(vía livrariadaesquina)

Archivado en Looking for Alaska John Green escrito en la piel

464 notas

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though;He will not see me stopping hereTo watch his woods fill up with snow.My little horse must think it queerTo stop without a farmhouse nearBetween the woods and frozen lakeThe darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shakeTo ask if there is some mistake.The only other sound’s the sweepOf easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep.But I have promises to keep,And miles to go before I sleep,And miles to go before I sleep. Robert Frost Alto en el bosque en una noche de invierno Me imagino de quién son estos bosques.Pero en el pueblo su casa se encuentra;no me verá parada en este sitio,ante sus bosques cubiertos de nieve.Mi pequeño caballo encuentra insólitoparar aquí, sin ninguna alqueríaentre el helado lago y estos bosques,en la noche más lóbrega del año.Las campanillas del arnés sacudeComo si presintiera que ocurre algo…Sólo se oye otro son: el sigilosopaso del viento entre los copos blandos.¡Qué bellos son los bosques, y sombríos!Pero tengo promesas que cumplir,y andar mucho camino sin dormir,y andar mucho camino sin dormir. Versión de Agustí Bartra erreurdesuicide: © by Revista Metal

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost

Alto en el bosque en una noche de invierno

Me imagino de quién son estos bosques.
Pero en el pueblo su casa se encuentra;
no me verá parada en este sitio,
ante sus bosques cubiertos de nieve.

Mi pequeño caballo encuentra insólito
parar aquí, sin ninguna alquería
entre el helado lago y estos bosques,
en la noche más lóbrega del año.

Las campanillas del arnés sacude
Como si presintiera que ocurre algo…
Sólo se oye otro son: el sigiloso
paso del viento entre los copos blandos.

¡Qué bellos son los bosques, y sombríos!
Pero tengo promesas que cumplir,
y andar mucho camino sin dormir,
y andar mucho camino sin dormir.

Versión de Agustí Bartra

erreurdesuicide:

© by Revista Metal

(vía krane-inner-sanctum-deactivated)

Archivado en Escrito en la piel