Hey, Do You Know That Feeling Of Hitching Up A Long Skirt So You Don’t Fall On Your Face When Walking

💗💗

life would be so different if i was a bookshop owner in a small village near some forest who has a secret affair with the local poet

 when sylvia plath wrote “the silence depressed me. it wasn’t the silence of silence. it was my own silence.” and when anne carson wrote “why does tragedy exist? because you are full of rage. why are you full of rage? because you are full of grief.” and when jenny slate wrote “and i am getting older but i am not growing up and my heart is getting soft dark spots on it like a fruit that has gone bad.” and when virginia woolf wrote “to want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain.” and when susanna kaysen wrote “when you’re sad, you need to hear your sorrow structured into sound.” and when margaret atwood wrote “already my childhood seemed far away – a remote age, faded and bittersweet, like dried flowers. did i regret its loss, did i want it back? i didn’t think so…” and when gillian flynn wrote “i was not a lovable child, and i’d grown into a deeply unlovable adult.”

And he'll return to me, aching to be hold, aching to be loved.

(excerpts from the long lost lover)/siyah

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. you won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. but one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

—

haruki murakami, kafka on the shore

it makes you stronger than ever

(via astound)

As I get older the more I appreciate straight forward people. Like if you’re mad at me I will respect you if you tell me. I don’t understand adults that would rather stomp their feet and use passive aggressive behavior to communicate. Life does not have to be this difficult fam

"I am, I thought, a tragedy".

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you? Those feelings that seem to get so big in your chest, like something is so beautiful it aches?”

— Heather Anastasiu, Glitch  (via thequotejournals)

“In November, we feel the hand of death closer at our backs. “Since the day of my birth,” writes Jean Cocteau, “my death began its walk. It is walking towards me without hurrying.””

— Nina MacLaughlin, from “Death’s Footsteps”, The Paris Review

I've never heard silence quite this loud.