Manuscript of Chopinâs Polonaise in F Minor, Op. 71, No. 3, ca. 1828-29.

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Manuscript of Chopinâs Polonaise in F Minor, Op. 71, No. 3, ca. 1828-29.

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pretending to be a businesswoman while daydreaming about dead poets and philosophers
I want a life filled with flowers. Flowers everywhere. Flowers growing inside me.
I feel very small. I don't understand. I have so much courage, fire, energy, for many things, yet I get so hurt, so wounded by small things.
AnaĂŻs Nin, from nearer the moon: the previously unpublished unexpurgated diary, 1937-1939

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âIn the story, you fall in love with a girl on another planet. Sheâs been dead for years, but through your telescope you watch her laugh, laughing too. You wave when she, remembering her smallness, remembers the stars.â
â Annelyse Gelman, âLove Poemâ in Everyone I Love is a Stranger to Someone
âOpinion is really the lowest form of human knowledge. It requires no accountability, no understanding. The highest form of knowledge is empathy, for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in anotherâs world. It requires profound purpose larger than the self kind of understanding.â
â Plato, The Republic (via sheabutterbitch)
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.
-David Whyte, The House of Belonging  Â
when hozier said "i'd burn every soul i knew if i thought the fire was warming you" and when he said "no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her" and when he said "i'm so full of love i can barely eat"
the moon knows

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I spent all night listening to the stars metaphorizing your name
âPioggia e stelle che cadono giĂš
Tutto questo sei tu.â
â Ultimo
Erika L. SĂĄnchez, I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter
itâs always âi love youâ but never âeven dark matter turns to water in your handsâ
I have searched the universe and found myself within her eyes

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Jupiter and its Galilean moons
âFrom childhoodâs hour I have not been as others were - I have not seen as others saw, I could bring - my passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken my sorrow, I could not awaken my heart to joy at the same tone - and all I loved, I loved alone.â
â Edgar Allan Poe âAloneâ.Â