Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer
I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.
“
| — | Margaret Atwood (via kitty-en-classe) |
Collection (Part 3)
Her breath was a continuous exhale pressed from her lungs by the vacuous weight of his love.
——————
The words fell in the air as their warmth was shattered by distrust.
——————
Everything’s always in conflict: knees and concrete; tongues and ears; love and us.
——————
He noticed the order of things done subconsciously by others: how they spoke; how they lied; how they unraveled.
——————
She said: ‘Favorite colors don’t tell much, I prefer favorite places to cry.
As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
“
| — | Anne Sexton (via confessionalpoet) |
Machinery
I do not mind
the many bodies and fleshy smiles
that came after me—
they were only maneuvers
and releases.I know you went around
looking for something similar
to what I gave to you,
and in result you slept
with a thousand womenbut still only made love to one.
Michal’s Note: The first stanza took me.
While I can’t have you, I long for you. I am the kind of person who would miss a train or a plane to meet you for coffee. I’d take a taxi across town to see you for ten minutes. I’d wait outside all night if I thought you would open the door in the morning. If you call me and say “Will you…” my answer is “Yes”, before your sentence is out. I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you.
“
| — | Jeanette Winterson (via thehiddenabyss) |
i.
cracked eggs in the carton before you get a chance to use themii.
the sound of a neighbour crying very late at nightiii.
dishes crashing to the kitchen floor and shattering
iv.
kissing your lover and picturing someone else’s face
v.
a hint of your late grandmother’s perfume in the airvi.
saying goodbye in an airport to someone who doesn’t know you love them
vii.
the blue in all of the paintings
my grandfather’s muscles have toughened
and when i ask him how he is doing,
with his skin paying homage to ghosts
on sheets that reek of morphine, he saysone day god will stretch these muscles
between wooden hooks and i will help him be
the world’s saddest violist.
Some people are flowers
you are meant to look at
and admire
but when you hold them
and bring them inside
their days are numbered.
[Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.]
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
“
| — | Pablo Neruda, from “Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines” (via the-final-sentence) |
I think there’s still a small block of original quiet that exists in the world. 3 a.m. to 5 a.m. - a last natural wilderness, time’s shrinking little Alaska.
“
| — | The Raw Shark Texts by Steven Hall (via budddha) |
