Love hasn’t been kind to me.

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@violet-swing
Love hasn’t been kind to me.
I was not careful. I was reckless, headlong. He was another knife, I could feel it. A different sort, but a knife still. I did not care. I thought: give me the blade. Some things are worth spilling blood for.
Madeline Miller, from ‘Circe’
Jean-Paul Sartre, from No Exit and Three Other Plays; “The Flies”
Text ID: But I—What am I but an empty shell? Some creature has devoured me, gnawed out my inner self.
from ought by molly brodak, published in a little middle of the night
[Text ID: well... define hurt. Because I can't tell if I'm dull to it or if it is just everywhere. /End ID]
...no words could be bitter enough, no day could be long enough. There is just no end to it. Disappointment. I eat and drink it. I wake and sleep it.
Marilynne Robinson, from Gilead
everything you love will die in your arms and it will be your fault
planet of love !
“A Ghost Is a Memory.” On Bodies, Belief, and the Places Ghost Stories Live
Warsan Shire, from "Extreme Girlhood", Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head
“I wanted to be physically erased and start over again. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be there. I guess I wanted to be nowhere, I wanted to listen to my brain talk inside of nothingness. I wanted to be untouchable and have no need.”
— David Wojnarowicz, from Close to the Knives: A Memoir of Disintegration (via unpetalled)
so much love
- Olga Tokarczuk, from 'Drive Your Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead' [translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones]
“Everyone arrives one day and asks, is this it? And the stars answer back with more stars.”
— Victoria Chang, poet.
‘Attachment and the Defence Against Intimacy’, Linda Cundy