Their conversation is like a gently wicked dance: sound meets sound, curtsies, shimmies, and retires. Another sound enters but is upstaged by still another: the two circle each other and stop. Sometimes their words move in lofty spirals; other times they take strident leaps, and all of it is punctuated with warm-pulsed laughter—like the throb of a heart made of jelly. The edge, the curl, the thrust of their emotions is always clear to Frieda and me. We do not, cannot, know the meanings of all their words, for we are nine and ten years old. So we watch their faces, their hands, their feet, and listen for truth in timbre.

I hide myself within my flower,

That wearing on your breast,

You, unsuspecting, wear me too —

And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,

That, fading from your vase,

You, unsuspecting, feel for me

Almost a loneliness.

I have this strange feeling that I'm not myself anymore. It's hard to put in words, but I guess it's like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.

WILL there really be a morning?

Is there such a thing as day?

Could I see it from the mountains

If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like water-lilies?

Has it feathers like a bird?

Is it brought from famous countries

Of which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!

Oh, some wise man from the skies!

Please to tell a little pilgrim

Where the place called morning lies!

Please don't expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.

"I believe that eyes are very important motifs. Thats something that can discern the peace and love"

COME slowly, Eden!

Lips unused to thee,

Bashful, sip thy jasmines,

As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower,

Round her chamber hums,

Counts his nectars—enters,

And is lot in balms!

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all "

When I saw you, I knew I was cursed

I'm the one who got bit first

And just do it, what you did to me, dear

It's the morning after, long white robes and laughter

Face the bottle and feed from the blood we shared

There, lovers beware

This time, I'll play for a whole life

-Morning after, Ariel Pink

https://open.spotify.com/track/7s0EDqKdJscqkTsc0vp5Pc

D'er Haust. Det ruskar ute

med Regn og kalde Vind.

Smaafuglen flyg mot Rute

og vilde gjerne inn.

Men under Omnen god,

der ligg paa Sekkje-Pute

"And now we’re supposed to go back to our normal lives. That’s what people do. They have these amazing experiences with another person, and then they just go home and clean the bathroom or whatever."