Living Together
I hold contradictions. They sit inside me living together Like old friends Who forgot how they met. One speaks, the other listens. Then the other speaks. They laugh and shrug And thank each other for the chance to think differently.
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Living Together
I hold contradictions. They sit inside me living together Like old friends Who forgot how they met. One speaks, the other listens. Then the other speaks. They laugh and shrug And thank each other for the chance to think differently.

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Doodle chilling
Junot Diaz
"What we do get in life and miss so often in literature is the sentence sounds that underlie the words. Words themselves do not convey meaning, and to [. . . prove] this, . . . let us take the example of two people who are talking on the other side of a closed door, whose voices can be heard but whose words cannot be distinguished. Even though the words do not carry, the sound of them does, and the listener can catch the meaning of the conversation. . . . [T]o me a sentence is not interesting merely in conveying a meaning of words. It must do something more; it must convey a meaning by sound."
Robert Frost
What a lot we lost when we stopped writing letters. You can't reread a phone call.
Liz Carpenter

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“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”
Anais Nin
What other places are there in the world than those discovered on a lover's body?
Written On The Body
I wish I'd done everything on earth with you
Great Gatsby
I already love in you your beauty, but I am only beginning to love in you that which is eternal and ever previous – your heat, your soul. Beauty one could get to know and fall in love with in one hour and cease to love it as speedily; but the soul one must learn to know. Believe me, nothing on earth is given without labour, even love, the most beautiful and natural of feelings.
Leo Tolstoy
"Each man bears within himself his own dose of natural opium, incessantly secreted and renewed, and, from birth to death, how many hours can we count filled with pleasure,with prosperous and effective action?"
Charles Baudelaire

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The cigarette stub you left is still warm in the bin. I'm looking at it, with silent explosions inside of me. My callous words still ringing in the air Oppressive spaces that were once havens for our love Making hell of heaven. Why can't we clean our slates like chalk boards? Brush off the chalky dust of past failures And fuck ups? You weakened my knees. I merely needed a crutch to stay standing. Forgive me. And now I wait amongst burning debris. Wondering if tonight was our last kiss, If the sight of you walking away Without a word, without a look, In cold resolution, will haunt me forever.
Your true self can be known only by systematic experimentation, and controlled only by being known.
Francis Bacon
The perception of weight.
You are an ache that visits me in moments of solitude, When I lean backwards Tip my head Sipping grim gin from a teacup. The new hat castes a shadow Like a melancholy poet Dim light musings Over madness &mistakes. The fickle nature of fate, The impulsive girl who Lost the togetherness she never knew she had. Caste it aside Mere moments Well for you Mousy mousy. My memories rumble, though they were meant to be left behind.
The beginning and end of
Longevity. It's everything and it's nothing. We think Impact Meaning Trust. Depth comes from Long Ev Ity. Tell that to The Forest Floored by fire. Tell it to to your carefully curated Self, Swallowed whole By Her Eyes, Her mouth Her electrifying scent, Then crushed in a breath by a mere handful Of her devastating words.
Reverberations
Tell her you are a woman of words, and your words speak infinitely Of nothing. For you, who do not respect the Weight of Words will never know the depth of deceits You have made.

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Sangfroid
Badly kept secrets, Half-heard conversations With an absent mind elsewhere. But some things stick. What gets left is pieces of me Behind. On the bed, scribbled letters Forgotten. I’m this and I’m that but you don’t know. I don’t even know. Maybe my lies are so good I fool myself.
If you don't understand, ask questions. If you're uncomfortable about asking questions, say you are uncomfortable about asking questions and then ask anyway. It's easy to tell when a question is coming from a good place. Then listen some more. Sometimes people just want to feel heard. Here's to possibilities of friendship and connection and understanding.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichi