When Krishna meets Radha in heaven, he tells her about how much tears he had shed in her remembrance and she says she could not lose a single tear because she wanted to preserve all of herself that he had loved until they could meet again
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@nanacove
When Krishna meets Radha in heaven, he tells her about how much tears he had shed in her remembrance and she says she could not lose a single tear because she wanted to preserve all of herself that he had loved until they could meet again
I have always thought that living alone is a lot less messy than being with others. Cooking a meal, doing my laundry, reading a book, washing my dishes; single sheets, single pairs of cutlery, couples of cups maybe. I complete my routine daily with no interruption excluding any emergencies of course. My solitude bubbles up my whole body but sometimes, sometimes it is hollow, and I have this exceptional feeling of loneliness. I long for my doorbell to be rung and have my mismatched cups waiting to be washed in the sink. My heart desperately wanting to be nurtured by shared stories, my eyes looking for nostalgia and my hands foraging for a place to belong. And it comes to me, that it is worth the mess. For my people, it was never a mess but something to fix swiftly while we laugh together doing so.
— Natalie Diaz, Postcolonial Love Poem
if this isnt azriel's thoughts about elain i dont know what is.
the yearning i—
Charles I. Berg Weeping Magdalen 1899 photogravure in red on chine collé mounted on cream wove paper
the steam from my coffee blurs the lens
And I ask of you, To paint me with the sweet essence of your kiss The whole of my face, the whole of my bits Knit our veins together as you sing me a song, Woven love between our mouths; I could care less about hells and sins As long as we remain entwined skins. And then I ask for it again A season’s rest in your arms, Sip the tire off your palms, Give your slender wrist a lick Under the soft light of a burning wick And have me begging, let me be with you Forever and a day anew.
They'll never know how I'd stared at the dark in that room With no thoughts like a blood-sniffing shark
Too long a wait
A reason good enough
Changing seasons do nowt
Neither finances worth
Enough for a reason
Nothing nowt.
You're on me
tender like a bruise
Swallow you along with the love you inflict
And bundle you up
in my heart
As how you like your home
Mitski
Once more to see you - Mitski
i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.
"I am no longer my own. This foreign body of mine channels no divine inspiration from the universe anymore. Now I am nothing but an empty canal out of use, yearning for the wetness of the water that once flowed through me. This vaccum in me will suck out all the juices of my organs. Although I am a woman, it makes me a madman. It compels me to let all desperate mothers suffer as they wait for their army sons nevermore to return, separate all merry lovers and sacrifice the women upon the altar for the so called greater good. I would stomp on the new sprouts of the spring so that Mother Earth weeps herself to sleep. And when i meet love and peace once again they will only recognize me as of what I have done in this hideous form of mine. Of course you're a woman! You are only seen when you perform a beastly dance in the swan lake. "
- an extract from my short prose 'An Angel's Self Reflection'
Silent days
On my silent days / I wash my cups / And stretch wide / my sheets / I let the early sun / kiss my freckles each / I pluck / Peaches and plums / From my dainty orchard / All in a day / For tomorrow follows / As do my other days / Only in my heart then remains / My silent days
The Stranger by Albert Camus