if there is joy in your heart, please notify your face.

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When I touch her, my fingers don’t question what she is. My body knows who she is. The strange thing about strangers is that they are unknown and known. There is a pattern to her, a shape I understand, a private geometry that numbers mine. She is a maze where I got lost years ago, and now find the way out. She is the missing map. She is the place that I am. She is a stranger. She is the strange that I am beginning to love.
Jeanette Winterson, The Stone Gods (via vonmoire)

(Source: tiredofbeingsexy, via mashamorevna)