Dentro ogni persona ci sono dolori che nessuno conosce, sacrifici che nessuno può nemmeno immaginare, cicatrici che nessuno ha curato. Ci sono sentimenti che nessuno potrà mai giudicare perché nessuno ha pianto le stesse lacrime o sofferto stesso dolore. Ognuno di noi conosce quello che conserva chiuso dentro al cuore e che nessuno al mondo deve o può giudicare.
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there must be a part of you that aches at my absence. there must be a part of you that wonders what i am doing, if i thought of you, if i slept well, if i watched the sunset from my window last night. there must be a part of you that resents everything we did not become.
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God, I love it when he strokes me. On the head, back, arms, neck, hands. I immediately fall asleep.
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Things i find romantic:
- brushing the hair out of my face ❤️
- LOVE LETTERS 💌
- flowers 💐
- “I can do it myself.” “I know, but let me” 🪐
- museum dates 🖋️
- playing piano for me 🎹
- midnight car rides 🌙
- photo booths 🎞️
- kissing in the rain 🌧️
- random compliments 💋
- personalised CDs 💿
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My heart is fragile and injured.
She cries and calls your name in her sleep.
Where have you wandered, beloved?
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Open windows and open soul, dripping into consciousness, pulling sunsetscape over my eager self as it it was a held comfort of loving arms, breathing... breathing in the melody of cloudlove, permeating the senses, lulling, lilting, something dreamlike, something masculine and sensual... contours of a fantasy, tickling my ear... I could tell you 'you are beautiful' over and over again, and I'd mean it too, but would you believe me?
© Anna S. 2024
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Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to Virginia Woolf (August 1919)
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from Vahan Teryan's letter to Nvard Toumanyan (translated by Tathev Simonyan)
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god i want to be held. gently. not gently. roughly tackled after time away. tucked close with an arm around my waist or a palm on the small of my back. given a hug that screams, "i've missed you, i've missed you, i've missed you." or a lingering kiss that whispers, "you're finally home." i want to be held because you want to hold me.
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Before we began to talk with each other he was so distant that as I sat across from him, I thought about the things we would never do, the topics we would never discuss, the places we would never see together.
— we are married for a three years now
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Vladimir Mayakovsky, from a letter featured in "Love in the Heart of Everything; The Correspondence between Vladimir Mayakovsky & Lili Brik, 1915-1930,"
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Albert Camus, from a letter to Maria Casarès written in August 1948
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