[evenasmallcough]

enough

[evenasmallcough]

every sentence is an ending and it is not. There's another sentence expected after it.

Travis L. Tate, except from Summer City

[mournfulroses]

Anne Sexton, from an interview featured in No Evil Star: Selected Essays, Interviews & Prose

[evenasmallcough]

Heart

My glass house thrown at stones

- Andrea Cohen, from Long Division

[evenasmallcough]

It was a time in the world after Leila Chatti, The Visible World

Most days, I just wanted to go. My veins split from too much missing. Remember the warm dark of summer? Rain heavier than thought. Incomplete kisses. A lie from a favorite mouth like steam screaming from a kettle. You know—things that shake you. The universe was expanding, but my world was shrinking. Despite everything, there is still a heart in me that loves and doesn’t want to play dead, that breaks for— Sky. Crepe myrtle. Crêpes. The tender specks of stardust under my nails. All the little nothings that keep asking me to stay.

— cora finch

[evenasmallcough]

THE VISIBLE WORLD

Lilac willing to be beautiful. Wild blackberries, wild lack—now my tenderness is full of briars. The light like velvet. It was a time in the world. The bluey lake dimming, the rhubarb. You know—that simple. Despite everything, there is still a self in me who worships the visible world and doesn't take it back. Egrets. Milkweed. Milk. I am being here, right now.

- Leila Chatti

[evenasmallcough]

when Gracie Abrams said:

You were my worst time You were the shoreline You were the crash and now I break

I'm far out, I'm by the shoreline, I I, I lived there in my spare time I know better than cold goodbyes

[evenasmallcough]

But in the morning, submissive once more, I Melt, like a slender candle… And then from my bare shoulder A black ribbon slides.

- Anna Akhmatova

[evenasmallcough]

A quiet morning feels dangerous, but so does

a loud one. A child straps on her backpack, gets ready to know. If I say: It is despair, precisely

well that just makes it precise. I want to feel like I had a hand in it, making the world.

- Maggie Nelson, excerpt from Dailies

[evenasmallcough]

Sleep in the center of morning,

Maggie Nelson, excerpt from Vallejo

[evenasmallcough]

I speak to you with my whole soul at the edge of my lips.

Maria Casares, to Albert Camus, July 18, 1949

[mournfulroses]

Katherine Mansfield, from a diary entry featured in The Letters & Journals of Katherine Mansfield

[yanushkaa]

[evenasmallcough]

Inside the trees are souls I think Souls that grow and change Inside each leaf, so quiet A memory of moments no one else has seen But no man ever listens Takes the time to think That trees might see what happens That in the way they rustle Is a hint they wish to speak.

- Jennifer Lynch, from The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer

[evenasmallcough]

They say the forest heals, some say faster than the heart—

Deahna Fumarol, excerpt from After the Work Is Done

[oldpaintings]

Hawk's Nest, 1917 by Daniel Garber (American, 1880--1958)

[evenasmallcough]

Now though I am standing still I am flying flying flying through the trees of your eyes.

Marge Piercy, excerpt from We become new