mars omerova

What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid. I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited. Yet I am not a cretin: lame, blind and stupid. I am not a veteran, passing my legless, armless days in a wheelchair. I am not that mongoloidish old man shuffling out of the gates of the mental hospital. I have much to live for, yet unaccountably I am sick and sad.

The curtain fell between my present and

our past; we left through different doors into

different worlds and I made space for you in

mine, a void that can’t be filled as you are

not replaceable. I am.

In ways my world is lighter now. I don’t

wait for your return. The fairy lights I

hung have seemed to do the trick in fending

off the darkness. While I used to find your

shadow sticking to me like treacle, thick and

dark and inescapable, it has, in

recent months or years, become no more of

note than blinking, that momentary eclipse

I don’t need to face until I close my

eyes. The raging storm of pain and grief and

shame is now an aching autumn breeze.

It does not consume me.

I sit now where we sat once: the hard wood

floor of my childhood bedroom, where we played with

dolls or liquid eyeliner or truth or

dare and your echo is no longer here. However,

the feeling I can not let go of,

still, is that small void, that crack, somewhere in

my heart. As much as it frustrates me, after

all this time, I know that if you wanted

to return, then I would let you straight back in, and

the locks with which I sealed my heart have keys

"Dinlenmekten fazlası gerekecek. Belki de asla tam iyileşemeyeceğiz."

Arms crossed, knees drawn up; holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship’s, smooths and contains the rocker. It’s an inside kind—wrapped tight like skin.

Then there is a loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive, on its own. A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one’s own feet going seem to come from a far-off place.

1. I AM BELOVED and she is mine… i am not separate from her. there is no place where i stop her face is my own and i want to be there in the place where her face is and to be looking at it too

2. “Sethe,” he says. “Me and you got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.”

3. I don’t believe she wanted to get to red, and I understand why, because me and Beloved outdid ourselves with it.

4. “All I knew was I had to get milk to my baby girl. Nobody was going to nurse her like me… The milk would be there and I would be there with it.”

5. And I do. Love her. I do. She played with me and always came to be with me whenever I needed her. She’s mine, Beloved. She’s mine.

6. i look hard at her so she will know that the clouds are in the way i am sure she saw me i am looking at her see me she empties out her eyes…

favorite quotes from beloved by toni morrison