"The French called this time of day “l’heure bleue.” To the English it was “the gloaming.” The very word “gloaming” reverberates, echoes—the gloaming, the glimmer, the glitter, the glisten, the glamour—carrying in its consonants the images of houses shuttering, gardens darkening, grass-lined rivers slipping through the shadows. During the blue nights you think the end of day will never come. As the blue nights draw to a close (and they will, and they do) you experience an actual chill, an apprehension of illness, at the moment you first notice: the blue light is going, the days are already shortening, the summer is gone."
— Joan Didion, Blue Nights (via alighthouseofwords)
"I think of you a lot. I think of you and me walking along in a parking lot at night. Our shoulders rubbing against each other as we listen to our voices. We’re both damaged and beautiful. We know the order of order and the order of disorder. We’ve both been hunted and nearly destroyed by weaklings with big ideas. We know the night."
— Henry Rollins (Black Coffee Blues)
(Source: of-saudade, via navamora)