One Day You Will Deny To Destroy Yourself By The Immense Grief You Hold In Your Heart And The Breeze

Competition kills the joy of the process.

Me : Wow, I'm finally finding my flow. I love this quote, can't believe i wrote it.

Anxiety : Well, well. It's not that great. People think you're just a pretentious writer.

Me : No they don't. I actually write my own feelings, i think they relate to my words.

Anxiety : aww you wish. They hate you, and your art. Your writeups suck and your style is bad.

Me : No it isn't. Is it? IS IT? What if you're right? And what if I'm actually a bad writer. What if people actually think I'm pretentious. Yes anxiety, i guess you're right. Thank you, let me think about it all night, and get back to you.

Jamil B. Holway, tr. by George Dimitri Selim, from Grape Leaves: A Century of Arab-American Poetry; “Throbbings”

Anneshwa Paul / A melancholic December morning

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if i was in a jane austen novel i would be the one sent to the seaside for my health

“It feels like rain. And it feels like the rain will feel like love.”

— Don Pomerantz, from “Looking for Love,” Tar River Review (vol. 59, no. 2, Spring 2020)

Simone de Beauvoir ― The Woman Destroyed

I wish

I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger. I’d write to the point of suffocation. I’d write myself into nervouse breakdowns, Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I’d write about you a lot more than I should.

Benedict Smith; “I Wish I Wrote the Way I Thought”