Eternally grateful

A mi na.

[fe-li-ci-as-things]

Kaoru Yamada

#art

[mirkokosmos]

[esoteric-snob]

🖤

[pnwander]

november.

[placeeee]

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

“I’m waiting for you, I’m waiting for the evening calm, I’m waiting for our time, the oblique light, this pause between day and night. Peace will come, surely. But I can imagine no other peace than that of our two bodies bound together, of our gaze given over to each other - I have no other homeland but you.”

— Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, July 17, 1949 [#71]

[04k96]

[lifeinpoetry]

“There was one summer that returned many times over there was one flower unfurling taking many forms Crimson of the monarda, pale gold of the late roses There was one love There was one love, there were many nights Smell of the mock orange tree Corridors of jasmine and lilies Still the wind blew There were many winters but I closed my eyes The cold air white with dissolved wings There was one garden when the snow melted Azure and white; I couldn’t tell my solitude from love— There was one love; he had many voices There was one dawn; sometimes we watched it together I was here I was here There was one summer returning over and over there was one dawn I grew old watching.”

— Louise Glück, from Poems 1962-2012 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[pairedaeza]

Crimson of the monarda, pale gold of the late roses

There was one love There was one love, there were many nights

Smell of the mock orange tree Corridors of jasmine and lilies Still the wind blew

Louise Glück, from ‘Aubade’

[vilisdraco]

Seraph of Heaven! too gentle to be human,

Veiling beneath that radiant form of Woman!

-percy bysshe shelley.

[lachantefleurie]

                                              Hair unpinned the great night swift over your body jar of hot wine                             spilled

– Octavio Paz, A Tale of Two Gardens

[adel-i]

[7698]

[aiihi]

“The moon , me , and you “

[panic-point-blank]

First isolated moments

“Nothing is ever as beautiful as the first isolated moments with someone who might be able to love you — with someone you yourself might be able to love. There is nothing as silent as these minutes, nothing so saturated with sweet anticipation. It is for these few minutes that we love, not for the many that follow. Never again, they realize, would anything so beautiful ever happen to them. They might be happier, more impassioned, too, and infinitely satiated with their own bodies and with each other’s. But never again would it be so beautiful.”

Stig Dagerman, A Moth to a Flame (Burnt Child)

[poemswords]

“It’s not ‘natural’ to speak well, eloquently, in an interesting articulate way. People living in groups, families, communes say little–have few verbal means. Eloquence–thinking in words–is a byproduct of solitude, deracination, a heightened painful individuality.”

— Susan Sontag, As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh (via the-book-diaries)

[26bayes26]

[hauntedbythenarrative]

The King of the Ants: Mythological Essays, Zbigniew Herbert//Swan Maiden, from Among Gnomes and Trolls No. 2 by John Bauer (1908)