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Joan Didion, Blue Nights (via sadfellow)

(Source: alighthouseofwords, via 2amconversations)

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.

Literally the only one to use the enrique’s ‘creak’  they learnt on x factor.

(Source: yziam, via fuckinharryy)


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