The Name Of The Person You Love Is More Than Language

i want to go home. i will always want to go home. even when i am at home i want to go home. but i’m not really thinking of a place, it’s more that feeling of everything finally being over, of seeing the light in the windows of your house on a cold night, of being safe, the relief of leaving a party you’re not enjoying, like when you felt sick at school and they sent you home, or when you got upset at a sleepover and they called your parents. i want my mam to come get me. i want to go home.

Of all my dead it’s you

who come to me unfinished

— Adrienne Rich, A Woman Dead in her Forties

Pedro Salinas, tr. by Ruth Katz Crispin, from Memory in My Hands: The Love Poetry of Pedro Salinas; “The voice I owe to you”

[Text ID: “and the longing / to love, to love you, more.”]

Anne Boyer, What Resembles the Grave But Isn’t

“The past beats inside me like a second heart.”

— John Banville, The Sea (via wordsnquotes)

“I fulfilled the prophecy of your throat, loosed in you the fabulous wing of my mouth. Red holy-red ghost. Left my body and spoke to God, came back seraphimed—copper feathered and horned. Our bodies are nothing if not places to be had by, as in, God, she had me by the throat, by the hip bone, by the moon. God, she hurt me with my own horns.”

— Natalie Diaz, The Cure for Melancholy Is to Take the Horn (via theundying)

Rainer Maria Rilke, Journal of My Other Self

- Andrea Gibson

“i was a darkness in his bed sunless & shining like oil”

— – Safia Elhillo  (via pairedaeza)

“Accept this love I ask for. Accept the part of me that is you.”

Alejandra Pizarnik, from ‘On Your Anniversary’

“I am in your words, I know, as you are in all of mine.”

Edmond Jabés, A Foreigner Carrying in the Crook of His Arm A Tiny Book

“What I am giving you is nothing that belongs to me […] It is just yourself, you running through me throwing off sparks, your eyes blazing with fear, blazing with hope, I am giving you your own fire. All I do is breathe very gently on your night embers and handfuls of stars fly out.”

Hélène Cixous, The Book of Promethea

“losing through you what seemed myself, i find selves unimaginably mine”

e.e. cummings,  ‘silently if,out of not knowable’

 “He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. If all else perished and he remained, I should still continue to be, and if all else remained, and we were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. He’s always, always in my mind; not as a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.”

Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

“When you seem to be listening to my words, they seem to be your words, with me listening.”

Antonio Porchia, Voices

“No, Hans, my love, I am not as generous as you think nor do I give myself to you freely–whatever you take from me you have already given me […] When I think of you, when I give myself to you, I feel I am going to meet myself, and this makes me stronger and more serene.. what a selfish kind of generosity!”

Andres Neuman, Traveller of the Century

“I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections, And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

“I met myself in you.”

Adonis, ‘Transormations of the Lover’