#focloir

Why does focloir have an entry for alcoholic liver disease and not fucking Geode this websute is so outta pocket

Die empty, was his advice, and that stopped me on my tracks. I wasn’t expecting that. And how those words bore on me like a monumental brick set on my shoulders. He didn’t say anything else, only those two words, and afterwards a thought: what a powerful idea. Die empty, he said. And he meant it. As if to say, live a life that exhausts every bit of you. As if to say, give until there is nothing left to give. Love others, and also yourself, so furiously and wildly, run & fight until there’s hardly any strength left in you. Until there’s no more room for what ifs and what could have beens. Two words that could have meant, laugh until your lungs ache, and afterwards when they don’t anymore. Laugh even when everything is aching, especially then. Share your passions, share the music that you love and share the poems that move you. Give parts of yourself, without hoping they’d come back in the same way, or come back at all. Die empty. As if to say, write and tell stories until you run out of paper and words and light. I think that’s incredibly beautiful. I remember a scene from The Book Thief where Death, when he finally came to claim Rudy’s soul, said that this boy ‘just rolled into my arms’. And for a long while I wondered why that is, why this yellow-haired Saukerl seemed to have felt almost weightless and easy in Death’s arms when he came for him. I think I understand it now. — Charmaine Louise Escalante