A Silly Fairytale

“One word frees us for all the weight and pain in life. That word is love.”

[missinyouiskillingme]

Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.

[poetrydystopian]

"Very early in my life, it was too late."

[inkpressedpetals]

[mournfulroses]

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry featured in “The Selected Diaries of Virginia Woolf,”

[ruhlare]

where do you put the emptiness that feels too heavy to carry

[ruhlare]

where do you put the past that feels like it's haunting you to no end

[petaltexturedskies]

virginia woolf, from the complete works of virginia woolf; selected diaries

[dark-romantics]

do you still perform autopsies on conversations you’ve had long ago?

Autopsy: Thirteen Ways of Looking at Thirteen by Donte Collins

[flowerytale]

Anne Sexton, from “Iron Hans”, The Complete Poems

[quotemadness]

“You are so good. So good, you’re always feeling so much. And sometimes it feels like you’re gonna bust wide open from all the feeling, don’t it? People like you are the best in the world, but you sure do suffer for it.”

— Silas House

[luthienne]

“I’m not too gone to be / healed, am I? / I’m not too gone / am I?”

— Alice Notley, from In the Pines

[meanwhilepoetry]

If I could beg one thing of my childhood, it would be this: please stay a while longer. One last game. One last song. One last time playing pretend in the woods, where you can be anything you want to be. One last piece of soft hope before you become a memory that grows hazy year by year.

- Nikita Gill, If

[anxietyproblem]

[lifeinpoetry]

“I want to tell me I miss me. I want to tell me, / I’m never coming back.”

— Kayleb Rae Candrilli, from “Funeral for a Girl Who Grew Up in the Woods (or, At the Root),” All the Gay Saints

[stlowens]

Anne Carson, from Autobiography of Red

[quotemadness]

“Don’t turn from me, please. Take me in your arms. Gather me up, dear, fold me to your heart—and you’ll see how nice I can be.”

— Jean-Paul Sartre

[antigonick]

“Emerson, I am trying to live, as you said we must, the examined life. But there are days I wish there was less in my head to examine, not to speak of the busy heart.”

— Mary Oliver, excerpt of “Percy, Waiting for Ricky”, in Dog Songs

[soracities]

“When you’ve lived as long as I you’ll see that every human being has his shell and that you must take the shell into account. By the shell I mean the whole envelope of circumstances. There’s no such thing as an isolated man or woman; we’re each of us made up of some cluster of appurtenances. What shall we call our ‘self’? Where does it begin? where does it end? It overflows into everything that belongs to us—and then it flows back again.”

— Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady (via days-of-reading)