— Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a letter to Arthur Davison Ficke
-Fyodor Dostoevsky, Poor People
I love you 💌
-Charles Bukowski, "cancer," from Come On In!
I heard you're growing flowers in your garden.
Glad to know that you finally understood
how to take care of violets
Without tearing them apart.
For it being a month already,
I am slowly forgetting your voice, your touch, your eyes
And every beautiful thing about you
Including your bitter sweet lies.
I can't recall your face
Your memories are blurring out
Still here I am standing in the Dark
Repeatedly cleaving and bleeding my old wounds
It's been one year already.
How I left my scarf in your place deliberately,
Wishing you would come back in my life to return it
You didn't and I realise winter will be bitter this year
-dactylicreveries //
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Lath
She smiles a lot.
Even when she's sad?
Especially when she's sad.
I want to go to a place where people asks me if I ever fell in love and I don't start talking about my heartbreak
Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing