[literaturecravings]

currently reading:

novels: acts of desperation- megan nolan, nana- emile zola

diaries/plays: the mother- bertolt brecht

poetry:

favourites:

demian - hermann hesse

the song of achilles - madeline miller

night sky with exit wounds - ocean vuong

kitchen - banana yoshimoto

convenience store woman - sayaka murata

killing commendatore - haruki murakami

[petaltexturedskies]

Mary Oliver, from The Garden

[vriendenboekjes]

cut it out with till death do us part. i will find you in this life and reality and the next one and the next one and the next one

[pansyfemme]

relationships and jobs are temporary. your shitty unpopular tumblr blog is forever

[hondagirll]

Damn, no matter how many times I re-read or re-watch Persuasion, Captain Wentworth's letter to Anne always hits me straight in the heart.

"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant."

[crazysodomite]

small talk? it was quite big to me. i love you

[literaturecravings]

—1Q84 Book Three, Haruki Murakami

[literaturecravings]

—Sweet Bean Paste, Durian Sukigawa

[literaturecravings]

— Sputnik Sweetheart, Haruki Murakami

[literaturecravings]

—The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

[dct239394cvvd098dffgggp]

poetry is a fundamental food group if you dont read a decent poem once or twice a month you get soul anemic bone tired and all that

[papenathys]

Absolutely insane lines to just drop in the middle of an academic text btw. Feeling so normal about this.

[ A Critical History of English Literature, Vol. 1, Prof. David Daiches, first published in 1960 ]

[movedtofailhag2]

you need to be earnest. you need to tell people that you love them. you need to speak on how you’re feeling honestly. you need to be sentimental. you need to stop letting the fear of other people laughing at you have so much control over how you express yourself. you need to get over yourself. you need to be embarrassing but true.

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

-Suicide letters from Anne sexton

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

- morgan parker

[inkskinned]

you made me promise i wouldn't write about you, so i haven't. i don't know why. i don't owe you anything.

i turn 30 on july 1st.

i haven't heard from you in over a year. which is kind of nice, if i'm being honest. in that time i think a lot of things changed for me. a lot of things got sharper. for a while i was so utterly broken that i made my therapist cry while i was talking to her. that felt bad. (sorry kate).

i almost made my instagram public again, but then had to pause. would i only be doing that so that there was a chance you'd see me? so we'd cross paths and start talking? the other day someone said "i heard from your ex" and my heart dropped. like i'd been slapped. for some reason, i felt something almost like fear, which doesn't make any sense. i guess my body heard what happened and said: oh, this person hurt me so badly it literally rewrote my life story.

i think you were probably right, and this wasn't a good relationship. there's still strange things i miss doing. i miss playing board games with you. i miss the particular smell of your room. i miss the weight of your leg over my hipbone, your very-slight snore. all of this is still massively less than i used to miss. i miss you gently, almost ambivalently. recently my adhd did a cool trick - i got bored of thinking about it. i used to think i'd never be bored of it. that i could never actually escape it.

it's just that i was supposed to be different at 30. i was gonna be engaged and happy. i was going to be drinking on a rooftop with you. i was going to be coming home early from the party so i could crawl into bed with you. i was going to be looking for a house for us. i think i miss how easy that future would have been - which means, on occasion, i am missing the idea of you.

i am okay. i hope you're okay too, honestly. i've never wanted you to be hurting. you once told me that i'd be too furious with you to ever talk to you again. here's the thing - i am not like you. even after you left me, i was never actually... angry. it just is something that happened, and it hurt, and it's over now, and that's... okay. sometimes it's actually even better.

it's just that... i don't know. recently i was having lunch with a friend and she asked me so you still don't believe in love? and i looked at her and bit my lip. i thought about the rooftop i had imagined and the gift list i compiled with all your favorite things on it. i thought about how i got a new phone right after we broke up just so i wouldn't be tempted to go through photos. i bought myself a couch for my birthday - and it reminded me of you. how horrible; that i can't do anything anymore, not without your shadow somewhere.

here's the thing - i know you're not thinking about me as much. you got to pick up and leave. close the door. enough was enough.

i told my friend depends on the day. i think i believe in community and art and passion and friendship more than i ever have. i think i believe in singing at the top of your lungs and running flat-out and dancing in public. i once told my high school best friend that i didn't expect to make it to 30. i thought i would die far before then, miserable, unhappy. i was doing badly; i assumed all forms of survival had to be indelicate. rough.

i remember because of the melodrama of my teenage spirit. i told him unironically - creatures like me will never find love.

i turn 30 on july 1st. i want to laugh about that moment. but 30 is approaching. and i can't run fast enough.

[lifeinpoetry]

“I have been missing your voice / like bleached bones dream of flesh.”

— Rebecca Salazar, from “Reasonable ground,” published in Cosmonauts Avenue

[literaturecravings]

—The Letters of Vincent van Gogh