Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable...– Carl Jung (via delicatelybruised)
dictionaryofobscuresorrows: n. [Brit. wallesia] a condition characterized by scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there, which is your brain’s way of checking to see whether they’re still in your life, subconsciously patting its emotional pockets before it leaves for the day.
“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” Martin Luther King, Jr.
I teach silence in all languages through intensive examination of: the starry...– Wisława Szymborska, from “Classifields” (translated by S. Barańczak and C. Cavanagh)
Her heart was heavy because it was open, and so things filled it, and so things...– Mr. Fox, Helen O (via dondante)
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of...– Sylvia Plath (via parselmouthing)
the awakening of stones: Burning the Old Year →
rabbit-light: Letters swallow themselves in seconds. Notes friends tied to the doorknob, transparent scarlet paper, sizzle like moth wings, marry the air. So much of any year is flammable, lists of vegetables, partial poems. Orange swirling flame of days, so little is a stone. Where there was something and suddenly isn’t, an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space. I begin again with...