[couplechronicless-deactivated20]

[mmmm6m]

Every time the words I love you are said :

-Page 164

-Page 245

-Page 253

-Page 348

-Page 351

-Page 430

-Page 465

-Page 527

-Page 564

[shisasan]

19 January, 1924 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

“I love you. Infinitely and inexpressibly. I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and here I am writing this. My love, my happiness.”

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises

[sindee-lulu]

It makes no difference…

[lastronautt]

[metamorphesque]

"Love", Paruyr Sevak (translated by Tathev Simonyan)

[metamorphesque]

Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

[nicoooooooon]

A Short Film About Love (1988), lobby cards featuring Olaf Lubaszenko and Grazyna Szapolowska

Directed by Krzysztof Kieslowski Cinematography by Witold Adamek

[vacillator-deactivated20250323]

@churchtttt

[amanteagonia]

-amante da agonia

[mournfulroses]

Angela Carter, from The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories; "Puss-In-Boots,"

[mournfulroses]

Suzanne Scanlon, from "Committed: On Meaning and Madwomen," published in 2024

[mournfulroses]

Mary Oliver, from a poem titled "Hunter's Moon," featured in New & Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

[theoptia]

Anaïs Nin, from Ladders to Fire; “Cities of the Interior”

Text ID: I’m insatiable, you know. I’ll ask you for the impossible.

[weltenwellen]

Susan Sontag, As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh

[metamorphesque]

"Your Name", Paruyr Sevak (translated by metamorphesque)

[metamorphesque]

"Sulaaa, I love you. I love you like a madman, like a beast, like a man who is sick. I’m embracing you, touching you, merging with you—and I’m crying. I'm crying. God forbid it should be as unbearably sad for you as it is for me. My beloved, my beloved, my beloved. I’m working very poorly; in fact, I’m not working at all. I will start tomorrow. I need you so much. Don’t disappear. I will always be yours. Don’t do anything foolish—this isn’t jealousy, but brotherly concern. I can’t help you, my dear—unfortunately, just try to get by until the money comes. It’s unthinkable that we won’t meet until spring—I will go mad or take my own life. I’m lying (poetically) when I say I know the color of your name. But I do know for sure what scent you have, and don’t get me started on your taste. My fragrance, I can't live without your scent. Let me, Solomon, fall on your belly and breathe in that scent. Suddenly, I understood—phy-si-cal-ly—how much I desire you, my fe-male… I’m kissing your belly, and I don’t know how I shall fall asleep. I want you. I want you, I want you. I want to swear…" from a letter by Paruyr Sevak to Sulamitha, the woman who inspired the poem (translated by Tathev Simonyan)

[honeywine0]