Yearning for you, no trace of me remains.

[lunamonchtuna]

— Marina Tsvetaeva, in a letter to Boris Pasternak, from A Russian Psyche: The Poetic Mind of Marina Tsvetaeva (via lunamonchtuna)

[i-will-recover-tomorrow]

[veritaspetal-deactivated2026050]

[lifeinpoetry]

“I was carving my name into your side and you were calling me soft, calling me gentle. I do not think you were paying attention.”

— Trista Mateer, from “For the One Who Loved My Hands More than Anything Else,” The Dogs I Have Kissed

[ancientsstudies]

ig credit: lerafromsaintp.

[metamorphesque]

musings on april

Sylvia Plath (Leon Dabo), Edna St. Vincent Millay, E. E. Cummings, Naguib Mahfouz (Edgar Degas), E. E. Cummings (Édouard Manet), Rabindranath Tagore, T. S. Eliot (Edgar Degas), F. Scott Fitzgerald (Alphonse Osbert)

[ancientsstudies]

Lily of The Valley.

[shadowseductress]

i want that "I would rather be at home with the love of my life" love

[kaos-teorema]

anatomie de l'enfer (catherine breillat, 2004)

[anatomyofmelancholia]

“When I look back on my past and think how much time I wasted on nothing, how much time has been lost in futilities, errors, laziness, incapacity to live; how little I appreciated it, how many times I sinned against my heart and soul — then my heart bleeds. Life is a gift, life is happiness, every minute can be an eternity of happiness!”

- Fyodor Dostoyevsky

[thenevernovel]

It's a special kind of torture to have the will to move mountains for someone, only to find the mountain is their own sorrow, and you are not allowed to touch it.

Excerpt from The Never Novel

[anatomyofmelancholia]

“I’m nothing but nausea, nothing but reverie, nothing but longing.

I’m something very far removed, and I keep going.”

- Fernando Pessoa, A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe: Selected Poems

[angelbumbum]

i am once again experiencing urges and desires

[angelbumbum]

y’all thinking this is a horny post but it’s about violence actually

[anatomyofmelancholia]

Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.

- Vincent van Gogh

[deathgasmic]

half avoidant on my father's side

[vampzip]

half anxious on my mother’s side

[anatomyofmelancholia]

“How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn't they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?”

- Don DeLillo, White Noise

[metamorphesque]

The Trouble with Being Born, E. M. Cioran (translated by Richard Howard)