writer in the dark

L, 20, los angeles. poems and things.

[topemberley]

#mood

[stars-bean]

The Philadelphia Story (1940) dir. George Cukor

[recaption]

[feuillesmortes]

Who is the real subject of most love poems? Not the beloved. It is the hole. When I desire you, a part of me is gone: my want of you partakes of me. So reasons the lover at the edge of eros. The presence of want awakens in him nostalgia for wholeness. His thoughts turn toward questions of personal identity: he must recover and reincorporate what is gone if he is to be a complete person. […] Most people find something disturbingly lucid and true in Aristophanes’ image of lovers as people cut in half. All desire is for a part of oneself gone missing, or so it feels to the person in love.

Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet: An Essay.

[levrathan]

“You are a dream; I hope I never meet you.”

— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via dollpeach)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Michael Cunningham, from “The Hours,” originally published c. 1998

[dearestvita-deactivated20221122]

“Come back! Even as a shadow, even as a dream.”

— Euripides, from Herakles, tr. by Anne Carson

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Emily Dickinson, from a letter to an unknown recipient wr. c. early 1862

[watchoutforintellect]

Anne Sexton - From Small Wire

[sevensaugust]

In dreams I meet you in warm conversations...

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Praxilla, from Classical Women Poets; “Scorpions,” published c. 1996

[lcverswift]

the archer — taylor swift

[surefinewhatev4r]

you slip from my grasp like ashes and I’m left wondering if we were ever really friends. I ask what’s wrong and you say nothing but the silence after tells me that you’re lying. but how can I fix this if you won’t tell me what’s broken?

i told you, late one night up on the roof looking out over Los Angeles, that I was scared of being left alone and now you never send me pictures and I wonder if you ever cared about my fears.

are you a brilliant actress or was I just a fool? when did this turn into a race of who could forget the other first?

[fataleangel]

“… what I am aches in me.”

— Fernando Pessoa, from “I See Boats Moving,” Selected Poems (via lifeinpoetry)

[dearestvita-deactivated20221122]

We might go to moonlight ruins, cafés, dances, plays: converse for ever; sleep only while the moon covers herself for an instant with a thin veil.

Virginia Woolf, in a letter to Vita Sackville-West, September 1928 (via nicollekidman)

[ehoradote]

Virginia Woolf’s cats, Sappho and Pluto 1947

[surefinewhatev4r]

what can you love more than the thing that you have loved and lost?

[ialmostdos]

call it what you want // taylor swift