lostinthewinterwinds

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Gertrud Kolmar, from “A Jewish Mother from Berlin & Susanna: A Novella,”

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Osip Mandelstam, tr. by Bernard Meares, from “The Finder of a Horseshoe,”

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hir·aeth

/‘hir,āeth/

noun a homesickness for a home you can not return to or a home that never was.

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By: Matilde

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By: Margo

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stampsandstamps

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By: Mazale

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Revenge has consumed every part of her that once held deep, soft love.

Nikita Gill, from “Great Goddesses: Life Lessons from Myths & Monsters,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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The loneliness is suffocating. At all hours, a ringing in my ears - that undertone. In the store, in the shower, in front of the people I love. Lonely like a fist in the mouth, like netting in my diaphragm, like a rotted tooth. Everything I put in my body just feels like cotton, all smooth and numb and unsatisfying. Who am I even looking for. What do I seek. What went to bed and never woke up inside me.

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“I sit here alone, burning,”

— Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter to Yannis Stavridakis c. December 1917

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“Leave it to youth to make joy out of nothing.”

— Oliver de la Paz, “Self-Portrait with Schlitz, a Pickup, and the Snake River,” from Requiem for the Orchard

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They said the living and the dead should not fall in love.

But her heart was so cold that dead fingers warmed it.

I wonder which of us is dead? the ghost asked.

“Just hold me,” she asked, and dead fingers slowly warmed her.

Who hurt you this bad? the ghost asked.

“Who didn’t?” she replied

And not for the first time the ghost wished there was an exorcism that worked on the living.