#what queue through yonder window breaks

[soracities]

“If someday the moon calls you by your name don’t be surprised, because every night I tell her about you.”

Shahrazad al-Khalij

[soracities]

Still, I refuse to regret you. I hope the stars are glowing wherever you are.

Jessica Therese, from ‘A Different Kind of Heartbreak’

[soracities]

...how I love your handwriting, that running shadow of your voice...

Vladimir Nabokov, in a letter to his wife Véra (1937), Letters to Véra

[soracities]

It is late now, I am a bit tired; the sky is irritated by stars...I love you, I love you, I love you...

Vladimir Nabokov, in a letter to his wife Véra (1926), Letters to Véra

[soracities]

My eyes remember oceans.

Adonis, from ‘The Crow’s Feather’, The Pages of Day and Night (trans. Samuel Hazo)

[soracities]

November again. It’s more winter than autumn...The trees are revealing their structures. There’s the catch of fire in the air. All the souls are out marauding. But there are roses, there are still roses. In the damp and the cold, on a bush that looks done, there’s a wide-open rose, still. Look at the colour of it.

Ali Smith, Autumn

[soracities]

What happened, happened once. So now it’s best in memory—an orange he sliced: the skin unbroken, then the knife, the chilled wedge lifted to my mouth, his mouth, the thin membrane between us, the exquisite orange, tongue, orange, my nakedness and his, the way he pushed me up against the fridge— Now I get to feel his hands again, the kiss that didn’t last, but sent some neural twin flashing wildly through the cortex. Love’s merciless, the way it travels in and keeps emitting light. Beside the stove we ate an orange. And there were purple flowers on the table. And we still had hours.

Kim Addonizio, ‘Stolen Moments’

[soracities]

Often I am so silent that I think I, too, will soon forget how to [speak] and nobody here will ever talk any more.

Angela Carter, from “The Lady of the House of Love”, The Bloody Chamber