[gobloggirl]

[a3n3g3el]

[ashstfu]

i don’t think people understand how much of life is grief. not just people dying, but losing the version of yourself you thought you’d become. grieving the city you had to leave. the friends you lost not in argument, but in silence. the summer that will never come back. the feeling that maybe you peaked at 12 when you were reading books under the covers and believing in forever

[aktionist]

[fairycosmos]

childhood was so crazy. my parents were kind of young. a meal seemed to last forever. i could run for ages. everyone was alive

[heavensghost]

How the absence of someone else feels like the absence of myself

[theoptia]

Leonard Cohen, from Book of Mercy; "I lost my way, I forgot..."

Text ID: I lost my way, I forgot to call on your name. The raw heart beat against the world, and the tears were for my lost victory. But you are here. You have always been here. The world is all forgetting, and the heart is a rage of directions, but your name unifies the heart, and the world is lifted into its place.

[feral-ballad]

Maya C. Popa, from Wound is the Origin of Wonder: Poems: “Duress”

[weltenwellen]

Rainer Maria Rilke, The Dark Interval: Letters on Loss, Grief, and Transformation

[cocainejuul]

[semiotextiana]

"I also am other than what I imagine myself to be. To know this is forgiveness."

Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace

[petaltexturedskies]

I am devoured with restlessness and fever. I cannot be quiet. I am wildly dreaming of escape, voyages, love. Wildly craving love. What can I do?

Anaïs Nin in a diary entry dated June 13 1943, featured in Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1939-1947

[altargrl]

It is the phenomenon sometimes called “alienation from self.” In its advanced stages, we no longer answer the telephone, because someone might want something; that we could say no without drowning in self-reproach is an idea alien to this game. Every encounter demands too much, tears the nerves, drains the will, and the specter of something as small as an unanswered letter arouses such disproportionate guilt that answering it becomes out of the question.

Joan Didion, On Self-Respect, 1961.

[bluebeardsbride-deactivated2021]

This is inhuman – yet it’s mine.

— Marina Tsvetaeva, ‘Wires’ Bride of Ice: New Selected Poems (translated by Elaine Feinstein)

This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.

— William Shakespeare, The Tempest

I am terrified by this dark thing   That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

— Sylvia Plath, ‘Elm’

[loveliesttime]

where's that quote abt like. being embarrassed abt the thinness of ur life the way ur embarrassed by a threadbare piece of clothing. bc like yeah

[loveliesttime]

Olivia Laing

[rozieramati]

i could have really loved you by tracey emin

[plangentia]

i think there's something so beautiful about postcards and how they say that yes i was in this beautiful place but i still couldn't stop thinking about you