‘twasmidnight

"August evenings are especially stricken with melancholy - as if the ghosts of all past summers came rushing to haunt my heart."

"I don't feel particularly proud of myself. But when I walk alone in the woods or lie in the meadows, all is well."

"People. People. Endless noise. And I am so tired. And I would like to sleep under trees; red ones, blue ones, swirling passionate ones."

You are going to break your promise. I understand. And I hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that I will not hate you.

"You tried to change, didn't you? Closed your mouth more, tried to be softer, prettier, less volatile, less awake...You can't make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that."

"And he would go back to his corner, sit down, hide his face in his hands and again sink into dreams and reminiscences... and again he was haunted by hopes."

"I wrote a poem about it, and then threw it away, because that's the last thing I need right now: More words dedicated to people who will never dedicate a single thing to me."

When I reread what I've written, I feel like I'm swallowing my own vomit.

a poem of my own, should I post more?

What crimes have you enacted?

“Love makes me forget myself sometimes. I am horribly angry, I am sick with it.”

"And it was Death itself who stood behind me, with his arms wrapped around me as tight as iron bands, and his lipless mouth kissing my neck as if in love. But as well as the horror, I felt a strange longing."

"Sometimes, I feel the past and the future pressing so hard on either side that there's no room for the present at all."

"I'm not tragic these days, I don't weep, but I feel alone, bewildered, far from you, far from everything - nothing has any meaning."

Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.

I have drawn your portrait with the colors of nostalgia and sprinkled over it stardusts that travelled through my veins.

"In the silence I suddenly understood the many ways a person can die but still be alive."

“She preferred most of all to live with flowers and music and to have a book, in quiet solitude.”