For women who are tied to the moon, love alone is not enough. We insist each day wrap it’s knuckles through our heart strings and pull. The lows. The joy. The poetry. We dance at the edge of a cliff, you have fallen off. So it goes. You will climb up again.
You rare girl, once again, you have a body that belongs to no lover, to no father, belongs to no one but you. Wear your sorrow like the lines on your palm. Like a shawl to keep you warm at night. Don’t mourn the love that is lost to you now. It is a book of poems whose meters worked their way into your pulse. Even if it has slipped from your hands, it will stay in your body.
You loved a man who treated you like absinthe, half poison and half god. He tried to sweeten you, to water you down. So you left. And now you have your heart all to yourself again. A heart like a stone cottage. Heart like a lover’s diary. Hope like an ocean.
—Letter From Anais Nin to Clementine von Radics
(After Marty McConnel)
(Source: clementinevonradics, via stellarwonderland)
“The important people in our lives leave imprints. They may stay or go in the physical realm, but they are always there in your heart, because they helped form your heart. There’s not getting over that”
—David Leviathan (via onlinecounsellingcollege
“There’s that word again. Need. I need you. I need you to need me. How nauseating, to need another human being, as if their heart is in your throat. Love isn’t about need. Don’t romanticize the notion of desperation. Let me let you in on a secret: you don’t need me and I don’t need you. We can get through life just fine without each other. Love is not wanting to. We want each other, we want skin and hands and all our daily scars. We want intoxication and art museums and intertwined limbs. We want ferocity in our lips and slow, small circles traced on our stomachs. I don’t need you in my life, but goddamn I want you in it.”
—All the Want in the World Cannot Fit in Our Hands (via versteur
(Source: typewriterdaily, via stellarwonderland)
“This is the real secret of life — to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play.”
—Alan Watts, The Essence of Alan Watts
This is why it hurts the way it hurts.
You have too many words in your head. There are too many ways to describe the way you feel. You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.
You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much.
—Iain S. Thomas, I Wrote This For You
(Source: abluesforbrklyn, via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)