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Katherine Mansfield

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from The New York Times

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a very short poem for august (s.r.m.)

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V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

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Søren Kierkegaard, Diaries 1813-1855

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grief will make you do crazy things. it will electrify the elegant, flower-stem neurons in the amygdala of your brain, will pluck them like an instrument. in ancient rome, grief made men twirl in their thin, leather sandals and pirouette until their feet bled; in india, it walked widows onto pyres waiting for fire. the persians gave the bodies of their deceased beloveds to dogs; the egyptians buried them with their servants. grief will make you laugh at the funeral, weep over the cereal bowl; it will buzz your feet until they start dancing in the middle of the night. it’s grief that inspires the unlikeliest of bedfellows. it will convince you, tugging at the hem of your ragged cotton robe — the one you’ve had since your father bought it for you in latakia when you were fifteen, the one that will always smell hazily of summer — that the building is on fire, the world is on fire, and you’ll only find water in one place: a city as far away from here as you can imagine. grief will pack your bag, quit your job, buy a white dress. it will make you say yes.

the arsonists’ city, hala alyan

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“ Nature Walk    ”

Photo by Ishikoro. Japan.

Love & Peace!

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“Inverness, Capital of the Highlands” by @castlesofscotland on ig .

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Rájöttem, hogy valóban az idő a legértékesebb eszköz az életünkben. Az idővel fizetünk másoknak, hogy mennyit töltünk velük. Az idővel emlékeket gyűjtünk. Az idővel feledünk. Idővel elmúlunk.

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winter could be gentle and we could all be kind and in love and in big sweaters and it could be okay. i want a gentle winter for the whole world

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Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

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Virginia Woolf, in a letter to Violet Dickinson written c. September 1907

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“Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love - that makes life and nature harmonise. The birds are consulting about their migrations, the trees are putting on the hectic or the pallid hues of decay, and begin to strew the ground, that one’s very footsteps may not disturb the repose of earth and air, while they give us a scent that is a perfect anodyne to the restless spirit. Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.”

— George Eliot, letter to Miss Lewis, Oct. 1, 1841. From George Eliot’s Life, as Related in Her Letters and Journals

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I think about this poem more than I should.

Ada Limón, The Carrying.

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me trying to be an active listener: YES no exactly right right right FOR REALLL yeah totally no literally! yeah for sure

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I actually need to sleep for five days straight