Bleh Bleh

[gushing-mushy]

In the dream, my dad said, "You've come to the end, Violet. You've reached your limit. We all have them and yours is now."

[gushing-mushy]

My words to you are the stitches in a scarf

I don’t want to finish

maybe it will come to be a blanket

to hold you here

love not gone anywhere

— Jean Valentine, “My words to you”

[gushing-mushy]

What does it matter to me that there were other people to love.

[gushing-mushy]

“You are still terribly afraid to be hurt; your imaginary sadism shows that. So afraid to be hurt that you want to take the lead and hurt first.”

— Anaïs Nin

[gushing-mushy]

The word “eclipse” comes from ancient Greek ekleipsis, “a forsaking, quitting, abandonment.” The sun quits us, we are forsaken by light.

Anne Carson, from Decreation; Totality: The Colour of Eclipse.

[gushing-mushy]

Do not think I am forgetful of you. You would not believe me if you knew how often you are in my heart & mind. I love thinking of you.

Katherine Mansfield, in a letter to Virginia Woolf, dated 13 August 1919.

[gushing-mushy]

I love you, because when I was very young, very foolish, and very much alone. . . you paid attention to me and, without seeming to, you opened for me the door to everything I love in the world.

Albert Camus, from The First Man, as quoted in Asymmetry by Lisa Halliday

[gushing-mushy]

If you're miserable, maybe you need to eat more citrus & open the windows a little wider & read that poetry book you've been putting off & enjoy hot bread with melted butter & go to bed with your phone on do not disturb.

[gushing-mushy]

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

Any nostalgia I feel is literary. It’s not the stillness of evenings in the country that endears me to the childhood I spent there, it’s the way the table was set for tea, it’s the way the furniture was arranged in the room, it’s the faces and physical gestures of the people. I feel nostalgia for scenes. Thus someone else’s childhood can move me as much as my own; both are purely visual phenomena from a past I’m unable to fathom, and my perception of them is literary. They move me, yes, but because I see them, not because I remember them.

[gushing-mushy]

“I didn't want to kiss you goodbye — that was the trouble — I wanted to kiss you good night — and there's a lot of difference.”

- Ernest Hemingway

[gushing-mushy]

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

Any nostalgia I feel is literary. It’s not the stillness of evenings in the country that endears me to the childhood I spent there, it’s the way the table was set for tea, it’s the way the furniture was arranged in the room, it’s the faces and physical gestures of the people. I feel nostalgia for scenes. Thus someone else’s childhood can move me as much as my own; both are purely visual phenomena from a past I’m unable to fathom, and my perception of them is literary. They move me, yes, but because I see them, not because I remember them.

[gushing-mushy]

And there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggle for your dreams than to be defeated without ever even knowing what you're fighting for.

[gushing-mushy]

But love is much like a dam: if you allow a tiny crack to form through which only a trickle of water can pass, that trickle will quickly bring down the whole structure, and soon no one will be able to control the force of the current.

[gushing-mushy]

As I sit in the backyard, looking at the sky changing its color from bright yellow to beautiful orange to romantic pink, I realize how my life has changed its colors over the time and how I have changed mine in the process.

How, just four years back in timeline, I valued my work the most and how my focus has changed from work to PEOPLE. I wonder if it has been a win situation for me or the other one.

[gushing-mushy]

A man's heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn't like a mother's womb. It won't bleed. It won't stretch to make room for you.

[gushing-mushy]

I don't want to harden, don't want these days to have their way with me.

Nicole Callihan, from Yesteryear.

[gushing-mushy]

Tell me, oh mysterious human,

If I came a little closer, could I feel

The world breaking beneath your skin,

Is there an entire galaxy I cannot see,

In the brink of your eyes?

- Leyla, Poem: Love Song