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run by: theoryoflostthings / yesyes / partythighs / rosiee / jessieflux
The night does not wish to come
so that you cannot come
and I cannot go.
But I will go,
though a scorpion sun should eat my temple.
But you will come
with your tongue burned by the salt rain.
The day does not wish to come
so that you cannot come
and I cannot go.
But I will go
yielding to the toads my chewed carnation.
But you will come
through the muddy sewers of darkness.
Neither night nor day wishes to come
so that I may die for you
and you die for me.
Federico García Lorca, Gacela of Desperate Love, trans. W. S. Merwin
(via yesyes)