[petaltexturedskies]

Anaïs Nin, Fire: From "A Journal of Love" The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1934-1937

[diaryofyearnings]

"(...) but you're in love with impossibility" ― Ismene to Antigone from Sophocles, Antigone

[diaryofyearnings]

I had tasted more than I needed to taste.

[diaryofyearnings]

Perhaps it’s because I was born during the heat of summer, I was conceived with undeniable seethe. I was never taught how to calm this blazing ardour.

[diaryofyearnings]

I think my deep-seated abhorrent towards real connection grows from the first time I tasted degradation. Inominy came one after another.

(you can read the full newsletter on my substack: @rosesfromantigone)

[diaryofyearnings]

Words are phantoms, pushing-and-pulling the strings in my mind.

[diaryofyearnings]

We protect what we love as an inherent desire, I've grown claws and fangs in trying to protect what's mine.

[diaryofyearnings]

I longed my memories. The nostalgia of what has been.

[diaryofyearnings]

I am nothing but a breathing pulsing organ underneath my skin.