cleaning my heart with poetry
Midafternoon, midsummer. The fields go on forever, peaceful, beautiful. Like butterflies with their black markings, the poppies open.
Louise Glück, from pastoral in "poems 1962-2012"
And I will wait for you.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov | Caravaggio, Bacchus/The Lute Player/Saint Jerome Writing/Young Sick Bacchus (details)
"Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red."
– Kait Rokowski
“(…) the day faded. We were dreaming, waiting for night.”
— Louise Glück, from Midsummer in “Poems 1962-2012
June 22, thursday : it is late now, i am a bit tired; the sky is irritated by the stars. hold onto hope.
Virginia Woolf, from a diary featured in "the diary of Virginia Woolf: volume II”
the sound of ocean waves crashing against the sand, soft ribbons in her hair, laughing at everything and nothing just because you’re so content, a breeze against your skin on a hot summer day
supporting them on their bad days, lounging around in bed on summer mornings, iced coffee on a hot day, stargazing for hours
“magic isnt real” — plants just grow out of the ground. for free. everywhere.