who's sad?

[p-trichor]

l o s s

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, Les Miserables // Dove, Interrupted, Lucie Brock-Broido // Dead Poets Society (1989) // Elsa's Song, The Amazing Devil // Home, Beetlejuice // Jojo Rabbit (2019) // Little Beast, Richard Siken // Francis Forever, Mitski

[lunchboxpoems]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“It seems to me, that if we love, we grieve. That’s the deal. That’s the pact. Grief and love are forever intertwined. Grief is the terrible reminder of the depths of our love and, like love, grief is non-negotiable. There is a vastness to grief that overwhelms our minuscule selves. We are tiny, trembling clusters of atoms subsumed within grief’s awesome presence. It occupies the core of our being and extends through our fingers to the limits of the universe. Within that whirling gyre all manner of madnesses exist; ghosts and spirits and dream visitations, and everything else that we, in our anguish, will into existence. These are precious gifts that are as valid and as real as we need them to be. They are the spirit guides that lead us out of the darkness. […] Dread grief trails bright phantoms in its wake. These spirits are ideas, essentially. They are our stunned imaginations reawakening after the calamity. Like ideas, these spirits speak of possibility. Follow your ideas, because on the other side of the idea is change and growth and redemption. Create your spirits. Call to them. Will them alive. Speak to them. It is their impossible and ghostly hands that draw us back to the world from which we were jettisoned; better now and unimaginably changed.”

— Nick Cave,  from The Red Hand Files (no. 6, October 2018)

[linkinmoon]

Edna St. Vincent Millay, in Letters (1952)

[shebloomedbutwontforgethepast]

And after a while you just stop. You stop watering your plants. You stop watching netflix. You stop reading. You stop replying to your friends as fast as you used to. You stop buying yourself nice things. You stop putting an effort into how you look. You stop taking care of yourself like you used to. You stop sleeping. You stop eating healthy foods. You stop petting your dog. You stop socializing.

You stop with everything. You find yourself sitting in your room for hours on end, without doing a single thing. Days feel like years. And you think you can’t do it for much longer.

[valentina-poem]

[metamorphesque]

Clarice Lispector on the unknowable heaviness of existing 

Quotes: Clarice Lispector

Art: Xi Huang, Su Xinyu, Clarice Lispector 

[incipienthappiness-quotes]

Love was the destroyer. It made mourners, widows, left misery in its wake. Grief and love were one and the same. Grief was the shadow love left when it was gone.

Rule of Wolves - Leigh Bardugo

[dreaminggg-of-u]

I miss you

I miss you with all my being

having you in my life was so freeing

I miss the looks we exchanged

I miss the love we held so close

I see lovers every where

parts of me suffocates

as I know I won’t feel that with you anymore

parts of me awaits

as I feel this might be just a bad dream

I miss you with all my being

not having you makes my life meaning

-/- less beyond anyone can imagine

[bored-and-ready-to-quote-deacti]

Anger during grieving is simply a sign of pain—pain against the unfairness of life. It's a form of progression, as it entails externalizing feelings by allowing them to surface

[mypompei]

If my love could have saved you, you'd have lived forever

[blueishtae]

What is it like to lose someone you love?

First off, you’d feel nothing. Just a weird sense of numbness that blocks out all the emotions you’d anticipated, or supposed to feel. You might try to escape from the harsh cold truth, even. You’d still feel the presence of your loved one, as if nothing—even the force of nature, had separated you two. You’d see it looming everywhere, you’d unknowingly keep up with your old habits. Like placing two sets of tableware, or taking a snippet in the garage to see what your furry friend might be up to.

That’s when you truly realize you’ve lost him, or her. When you feel bursts of melancholy, perhaps, pain, in your head.

Then you’d cry. Excruciatingly hard.

After that, you’d then be drowned in memories. Memories that comes in waves, that occurs to crawl into your mind within everything you see and haunt every nooks and crannies of your surroundings. Like a crude remark of this world, that you’ve lost someone you love, or at least, used to.

You’d see your lover in the living room, where you both binged multiple film series. You’d hear your parent whenever the sound of car closing echoes. You’d smell your friend through the bubblegum-scented shampoo you two shared. You’d feel your dog in your sudden urge to pet one on the street.

Finally, you’d come to terms with fate. Since nothing would bring back said person. You’d grow accustomed to the tinge of pain, acknowledge the distinct memories on display inside your head. Still, the memories, the adorable quirks and the habits of that loved one would always stay there, rent-free in a corner of your heart.

You will, forever, cherish those remaining threads of memories.

unscripted. unedited.

[illusionariee-deactivated202112]

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” ~ C.S. Lewis

[quoted-books]

“Her death hit in waves. Not a flood, but water lapping steadily at her ankles. You could drown in two inches of water. Maybe grief was the same.”

— Brit Bennett, The Vanishing Half

[anastasiasyah]

“You are both beauty and tragedy in one form I held you— I felt as if a thousand knives was jabbing my body I kissed you— I tasted both heaven and underworld down my throat I made love to you— I didn’t know whether to worship you or burn the hell out of you Now I understand the meaning of loving someone to death You are both and I’m somewhere in your between”

— “Love and Death”, anastasiasyah

[notebookofquotes]

“…no one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away - until the clock he wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life, they say, is only the core of their actual existence.”

— Terry Pratchett

[feral-ballad]

Since you left me I carry death in my heart.

Juliette Drouet, from a letter to Victor Hugo, written on 1833