this beautiful wound

"I came into the world with a beautiful wound."

[nizariat]

كانت مأساتي مع حبك غير المكتمل انني اشعر بذروة السعادة خلال لقائك وبذروة الذل بعد ذلك

My tragedy with you incomplete love

Was that I felt most happy seeing you

And most humiliated after it

- Ghada al-Samman

[noorshirazie]

my fingers tremble with surprising violence as i reflect upon how you left me. words will only amplify an injury too deep for poetry.

Noor Shirazie, Into the Wildfire: Mourning Departures (via noorshirazie)

[noorshirazie]

the heart knows not of duty. its only responsibility is to adore without limits or boundaries.

Noor Shirazie (via noorshirazie)

[znbb-deactivated20221215]

“You are no longer part of my heart

but at night 

you become the sorrow that flows into my eyes.”

[finita--la--commedia]

“Press my breasts, Part the veil of mystery, A flower blooms there, Crimson and fragrant.”

— Yosano Akiko (1878–1942), translated from the Japanese by Kenneth Rexroth

[brownsugarmonster]

I’ve been disappearing,

Bit by bit

Piece by piece

One loved one at a time

One heartbreak at a time

One lie at a time

I’ve been disappearing,

One song at a time

One lover at a time

one breath at a time

And I’ve been disappearing, shrinking, fading, losing 

and finally becoming.

[brownsugarmonster]

Did we bid our goodbyes or did the sun just fall out of the sky?

@ayeshasyedaa (via ayeshasyedaa)

[brownsugarmonster]

When you finally tell her about me,

Tell her about all the glances stolen midway

All the words we never said

All the times we never met

All the love we never had

And all the times we didn’t leave

Tell her about my laugh and all the love I couldn’t give you

About all the love you kept giving

Tell her how I always thought your smile could bring world peace

If she thinks so too, she isn’t the one

Tell her how my hands could never find their way to you

Tell her how I pray she has the world map for a heart and light where all my dark places were

Tell her how my love notes sounded like worn down apologies

If she says sorry more than I love you, she isn’t the one

Tell her about all my favourite songs and my love for dead things

Tell her how I did love you

Tell her how it could never be enough

Tell her how love could not save me

And when you finally tell her about me,

Tell her I’ll always pray for love to save the both of you.

-@ayeshasyedaa

[brownsugarmonster]

What am I, if not my tragedy?.

-@ayeshasyedaa

[finita-la-commedia]

“Making love with a woman and sleeping with a woman are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman).”

— Milan Kundera, from “The Book of Laughter and Forgetting”

[brownsugarmonster]

Place it between your teeth and or at the back of your throat where every other secret rots. Place it in the hollow of your cheek, or dont. Someday, when the rains forget my skin or your sun, my voice. Let my name escape your mouth, over and over again. Say it loudly and carelessly. Say it with hope, for that is what im made of. Say it with life, for that is what it means. Say it with love, for it shall never be yours.

-@ayeshasyedaa

[mellomilopeng]

A woman’s first blood doesn’t come from between her legs but from biting her tongue.

Meggie Royer (via eenymimi)

[alicenotley]

This isn’t about your usual witches. These are the women you couldn’t burn or drown. You’ll see us behind the trees in your backyard at night, drinking wine in your kitchens, reading in your beds. We will toil and trouble. But we don’t possess cats or foxes or young girls. We possess your hearts and your minds. We will avenge our ancestors, don’t worry. We’ve had centuries to perfect our craft.

Meggie Royer, Potions for Witches the Boys Couldn’t Burn (via humanprada)

[geek-girl1-deactivated20240703]

The difference between almost and lost is just two extra letters. The difference between sadness and joy is so many letters that the entire alphabet forgets its purpose.

Blueprints for Tattoos That Make the Owner Weep by Meggie Royer From The No You Never Listened To

( @writingsforwinter )

[zonneklaar]

In bed two weeks before everything ended, you murmured “I’m sorry” into my spine so you could apologize for the way your absence would eventually cripple me.

(via zonneklaar)

[mobeenhakeem]

And that’s the problem when something inside you dies. You know exactly where it once lived, but you have to accept it will never breathe again.

— Mobeen Hakeem

[oadamgeldi]