nisscatgirl

[nisscatgirl]

𝐸𝑠-𝑡𝑢 𝑢𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒,

𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑠-𝑡𝑢 𝑑𝑒 𝑙'𝑎𝑏î𝑚𝑒 ?

𝑇𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑢𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑛 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒,

𝑝𝑢𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑝𝑠 𝑠'𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑒.

𝑆𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑎 𝑡ê𝑡𝑒,

𝑆𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑟ê𝑣𝑒𝑠

𝐷𝑖𝑠-𝑚𝑜𝑖 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑞𝑢𝑜𝑖 𝑡𝑢 𝑡'𝑒𝑛𝑡ê𝑡𝑒𝑠 ?

𝐴𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑧, 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑠, 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑟ê𝑣𝑒.

𝐶'𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑑é𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒,

𝐿𝑎 𝑓𝑎ç𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑢 𝑚'𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠.

𝑆𝑖 𝑡𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒 𝑗𝑒 𝑡'𝑎𝑖𝑚𝑒,

𝐴 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑢 𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠.

[nisscatgirl]

Es-tu un mirage, viens-tu de l'abîme ?

Tard la nuit me reviens ton visage,

puis ton corps s'anime.

Sors de ma tête,

Sors de mes rêves

Dis-moi pourquoi tu t'entêtes ?

Allez, viens, faisons une trêve.

C'est débile,

La façon dont tu m'abimes.

Si tu savais comme je t'aime,

À quel point tu me fascines

[nisscatgirl]

Writing erotica became a road to sainthood rather than to debauchery.

Anaïs Nin, “Preface,” Delta of Venus

[nisscatgirl]

“He was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt.” ― Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus

“A burnt child loves the fire.” ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

[nisscatgirl]

I despise my own hypersensitiveness, which requires so much reassurance. It is certainly abnormal to crave so much to be loved and understood.

Anaïs Nin

[nisscatgirl]

Twilight. At twilight my heart melts into the heart of nature. The calmness, the softness, the mystic beauty of it penetrate into my very being like the sweet notes of a poem or a song. Perhaps in life also I like twilight. I turn more naturally toward the shadows, the sadness, the vague, uncertain dream world of visions and memories.

Anaïs Nin, in a diary entry dated July 14 1921; from "The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1920-1923"