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 //
- Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
“What did my fingers do before they held him?"
-Sylvia plath
-J. L. Carr, from A Month in the Country
- Carol Rifka Blunt | Tell the wolves I'm home
— Anne Sexton, Imitations of Drowning
It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.
-Maud Hart Lovelace, Betsy-Tacy and Tib
Ilya Kaminsky, from "Musica Humana", Dancing in Odessa: Poems
The fact that no one knows where I am is my only happiness. If only I could prolong this forever! It would be far more just than death. I am empty and futile in every corner of my being, even in my unhappiness.
-Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice
“She turned to me and said, “hold me”. So I dropped the world I had been holding and picked her up with both hands.”
-Zachary K Douglas
To love someone is to simply turn around.