Adrienne Rich, from âOrigins and History of Consciousnessâ, The Dream of a Common Language

if i look back, i am lost

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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
we're not kids anymore.
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Adrienne Rich, from âOrigins and History of Consciousnessâ, The Dream of a Common Language

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Clarice Lispector, tr. by Elizabeth Lowe, Ăgua Viva
Gillian Flynn â Sharp Objects
*in the mood to join virginia woolf in HER mood to dissolve in the sky*
âThings I Do When I Cannot Hold Youâ by Clementine Von Radics, from Mouthful of Forevers.

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George Seferis, tr. by Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard from, âIn the Kyrenia District.â [ID in alt text]
Iâve missed my little corner of the internet. Iâm glad to be back <3
Ever wonder if the first love had not been the first love could it have been a last love?
Greg Sellers, journal entry, âNotes from Nerudaâs Ghost,â 29 May 2018 (via memoryslandscape)
Iâll go. And Iâll stayâ and weâll be okay.
One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds.
Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage (via bookmania)

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âI was full of letters I hadnât sent you,â
â Anne Sexton, All My Pretty Ones; from âFlightâ
I love or I donât â despair comes easily to me: Though I may never be yours, Nonetheless thereâs such tenderness at times In your eyes, as though I am loved.
Dmitry Merezhkovsky, from She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not; 20th Century Russian Poetry (ed. by Yevgeny Yevtushenko)
Walt Whitman, âSong of Myselfâ, Complete Poems
[Text ID:Â â(What is less or more than a touch?)â]
Olga Broumas, Beginning with O; âFour Beginningsâ
âLet us go upward together, you and I â as if up to the great star, each leaning on the other, each resting in the other.â
â Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Lou Andreas-SalomĂŠ, 6 July 1898 (tr. by Edward Snow & Michael Winkler)

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Gregory Orr, âOde to Some Lyric Poetsâ The Last Love Poem I Will Ever Write
âGrief that is grief and worthy/Of that word.âÂ
â âSonnet In Answer To A Questionâ, Edna St. Vincent Millay
âI got up finally, with a grief worthy of you, and went home.âÂ
â âThree Poems for James Wrightâ, Mary Oliver
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