mydeerlybeloved

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Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground

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i love you, it looks like rain, June Gehringer

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“The first poem I wrote that wasn’t about you was in all capital letters, like it was trying to compensate for your absence. It was about a world far away from this one, where all of the plants were terrifying but had healing powers, you you had the guts to touch them. The first poem I wrote that wasn’t about you puffed up its throat like a bullfrog begging to be kissed. It’s my favorite poem because I hate it so much. I read it at least once a day and think: “So this is what I’m capable of without you. Go figure.” There is a hole in everything and I find you there, smiling like you don’t have anywhere else to be. The first poem I wrote that wasn’t about you might one day be regarded as a masterpiece. People will come from all over the world to run their fingers over the print and marvel at how empty it is of you. They will not recognize your scent clinging silently to their hands. Because if you walk into a room and notice what is missing from it, It’s still there, isn’t it? The first poem I wrote that wasn’t about you was still about you Damn it. Always.”

— Caitlyn Siehl, A Letter to Love  (via astoundly)

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Leila Chatti, from "Postcard from Gone"

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This blanket is a monster. I had no idea how big it was going to turn out. This is it on a king sized bed. Not the best photo but I was so excited to finish it I just had to share. Tomorrow, assuming the weather is good for it, I'll get some better photos in the sun.

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"Girl with a Pearl Earring" earrings - 10% off code: chandelyer

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sandw1tchshop on instagram

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Divine “THISTLES”, by René Lalique

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Cristina Rivera Garza, The Iliac Crest

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Cain by José Saramago translation by Margaret Jull Costa

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Emily Dickinson, “Ghosts.”

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[mydeerlybeloved]

“I had two longings and one was fighting the other. I wanted to be loved and I wanted to be always alone.”

— Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea (via theliteraryjournals)

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New dresser addition 🦴

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James Zamora - Jelly Aisle, 2023

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I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, 'I exist.' In thousands of agonies – I exist. I'm tormented on the rack – but I exist! Though I sit alone in a pillar – I exist! I see the sun, and if I don't see the sun, I know it's there. And there's a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

[mydeerlybeloved]

A soft light rising above the level meadow, behind the bed. He takes her in his arms. He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you

but he thinks this is a lie, so he says in the end you’re dead, nothing can hurt you which seems to him a more promising beginning, more true.

Louise Glück, “A Myth of Devotion”