Undreaming.

The room is full of the incandescence you poured into me. The room will explode when I sit at the side of your bed and you talk to me. I don’t hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. I have no power over your voice. It comes straight from you into me. I could stuff my ears and it would find it’s way into my blood and make it rise.

—Anaïs Nin, Henry and June (via leda-swanson, hellomeow, frenchtwist)

(via frenchtwist)