h0n3ybee

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― Elena Ferrante, The Story of the Lost Child

[text ID: To write, you have to want something to survive you.]

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❤️‍🩹

Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

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October, Louise Glück

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With me, you get a homie, a lover, a best friend and a psycho.

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— nivi; my fetish is to go to war (via authornivi)

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— melfessity (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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— josé olivarez // natalie diaz

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And if you could take away one thing from me.

O Lord, let it be the desire to be loved.

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I Don't Know How Many Souls I Have

by Fernando Pessoa tr. Richard Zenith

I don’t know how many souls I have. I’ve changed at every moment. I always feel like a stranger. I’ve never seen or found myself. From being so much, I have only soul. A man who has soul has no calm. A man who sees is just what he sees. A man who feels is not who he is.

Attentive to what I am and see, I become them and stop being I. Each of my dreams and each desire Belongs to whoever had it, not me. I am my own landscape, I watch myself journey -- Various, mobile, and alone. Here where I am I can’t feel myself.

That’s why I read, as a stranger, My being as if it were pages. Not knowing what will come And forgetting what has passed, I note in the margin of my reading What I thought I felt. Rereading, I wonder: “Was that me?” God knows, because he wrote it.

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something beautiful, something ruined

@kameneva

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— maplepecanpastry

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— via @free-my-mindd

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i am not dramatic—i am dissolving

@kameneva