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Perhaps the World Ends Here, Joy Harjo

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love when stories inflict unspeakable horrors onto a person for no real reason. its not karma. its not payback. its not a lesson. its not your fault. no ones even out to get you in particular. youre not the chosen one or special or anything. it just sorta happened and you were there. sorry man

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Anne Sexton.

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“Stay single until someone actually complements your life in a way that makes it better not to be single. If not, it’s not worth it.”

— Unknown

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Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959

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I’ve watched him rise

from battles no one saw,

watched him carry

the weight of silence

with shoulders that never asked for praise.

And still—

he shows up with kindness,

with eyes that hold stories

he rarely tells,

but that I’ve learned to read

between the lines.

There’s a kind of bravery in him

that humbles me—

not loud, not for show—

but steady,

like roots that grow deeper

through every storm.

I am proud—

not just of what he’s survived,

but of who he is

when no one’s watching.

The way he loves,

the way he tries,

the way he holds space

for light, even on his darkest days.

Loving him

is more than romance—

it’s reverence.

It’s choosing him

every day,

not because he needs me to,

but because my heart

wouldn’t dare

do anything else.

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“Don’t live in the past” okay well the people i loved are there.

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no animal was harmed during the making of this video. not one. for the few minutes that we were shooting film, the guns of each hunter fell silent. the industrial bolt throwers observed a moment's peace and the jaws of every predator hung softly open. no fish bit any hook and the bait worms held off on drowning only until the cameras stopped. the tails of ruminants ceased to flick just as their attendant flies, in unison, landed on their flanks to catch their tiny breaths. a spider instantly stopped winding silk around a wasp, patiently waiting for the caesura to end. a young veterinarian paused with the syringe in their hand. somewhere, a colicky baby stopped biting its mother's nipple and nursed happily for the very first time. we're sorry. we're sorry it couldn't have been longer. we didn't know this would happen.

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Martha Gellhorn, from a letter to Adlai Stevenson featured in The Selected Letters of Martha Gellhorn

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— Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin (Vol. 1: 1931-1934) (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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“you’ll find someone else” no thank you very much, i’d rather die yearning about her

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— Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse; Fragments [translated by Richard Howard]

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— goldford, from the song “art of surrender”

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theres a girl i see from across the hall, looking at me like someone watching a city burn without knowing they were the one who lit the match.

glowing, ruby red. drenched in my consciousness. her face is a kind of flower that blooms gardens in my heart. a presence that bends time like grief bends light, a secret you never meant to hide, a bruise that still remembers the tide.

something once passed right through me and did not stay. breath stopped long before it rained. it’s the echo of my own laugh in a stairwell and how lonely it sounds in return. when you live your life with tunnel vision, you pray to to it like it’s your religion.

she was born with a map in her mouth— and the roads all point away from me. just one taste and i am lost. they always knew that i would be.

the cafeteria air is still warm from someone else’s life. outside, someone drags a chair across the tile like a wound over a mile. this is the cost of silence: you build a cathedral from nothings, you give it a name, and no one ever hears the bell ring.

but i crumble completely when she turns. this world is fading far away from all i’ve ever known. i’m wondering how i never saw it coming through the door. i think it’s time i write this off the show. to be here and brave, is the only thing i’d ever wish to know.

in an alternate reality it doesn’t end this way. in an alternate reality you don’t just turn and go away.

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— unknown (via letsbelonelytogetherr)