Do you know what people really want? Everyone, I mean. Everybody in the world is thinking: I wish there was just one other person I could really talk to, who could really understand me, who’d be kind to me. That’s what people really want, if they’re telling the truth.

Doris Lessing

forgiveness will always look beautiful on you.



don’t let your soul

be wounded by society’s idea of beauty.

don’t let your heart

be scarred by the media’s concept of love.

don’t let your mind

be stifled by the dark thoughts of the night.


sometimes

it is not your fault.

sometimes

it is not your moon to carry.


sometimes

you are worthy of just the way you are.



-juansen dizon

I can’t explain to you or to anybody what it’s like inside me. How could I begin to explain; I can’t even explain it to myself. But even this is not the main thing; the main thing is obvious: it is impossible to live like a human being around me; you see this and yet you don’t want to believe it?

Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

ฮšฮน ฮตฯ€ฮตฮนฮดฮฎ ฮพฮญฯฯ‰ ฯ„ฮน ฮธฮฑ ฯ€ฮตฮน ฯ„ฮฑฯฮฑฯ‡ฮฎ, ฮณฮน’ ฮฑฯ…ฯ„ฯŒ ฮดฮต ฮถฮฎฯ„ฮทฯƒฮฑ ฯ„ฮฏฯ€ฮฟฯ„ฮฑ ฯ€ฮตฯฮนฯƒฯƒฯŒฯ„ฮตฯฮฟ ฯƒฯ„ฮท ฮถฯ‰ฮฎ ฮผฮฟฯ… ฯ€ฮฑฯฮฌ ฯ„ฮทฮฝ ฮนฯƒฮฟฯฯฮฟฯ€ฮฏฮฑ.
—  ฮ“ฮนฯŽฯฮณฮฟฯ‚ ฮฃฮตฯ†ฮญฯฮทฯ‚,ย ฮ‘ฯ€ฯŒฯƒฯ€ฮฑฯƒฮผฮฑ ฯ„ฮทฯ‚ ฮฑฮปฮปฮทฮปฮฟฮณฯฮฑฯ†ฮฏฮฑ ฯ„ฮฟฯ… ฮ“ฮนฯŽฯฮณฮฟฯ… ฮฃฮตฯ†ฮญฯฮท ฮผฮต ฯ„ฮทฮฝ ฮœฮฑฯฯŽ

Read me my love.

Read me in the petal of each rose that offers its fragrance and beauty to the air.

Read me in the shadow of the wind that caresses the strands of  hair that fall on your forehead.

Read me in the clouds that float in your sky and take you away to wherever you want to be

Read me in the waves that tenderly kiss your feet with songs of salt and blue.

Read me in the bright stars that like kites hang dreams in your sky. 

Read me in the corners of your lips and the beat of your heart in your chest.

Read me in the purity of your feelings and in the strength of your thoughts. 

Read my love, for here I will write to you with all that I am, with all my mind, my  soul and my heart.

e.v.e.

ฮšฮฑฮน ฮฝฮฑ,
ฯ€ฮฟฯ… ฯ€ฮนฮฑ ฮดฮตฮฝ ฮตฮฏฮผฮฑฯƒฯ„ฮต ฮตฮผฮตฮฏฯ‚ ฮฟฮน ฮดฯ…ฮฟ ฮผฮตฯ‚ ฯƒฯ„ฮทฮฝ ฮฑฮณฮฌฯ€ฮท ฮผฮฑฯ‚.
—  ฮคฮฌฯƒฮฟฯ‚ ฮ›ฮตฮนฮฒฮฑฮดฮฏฯ„ฮทฯ‚, ฮ‘ฯ…ฯ„ฯŒ ฯ„ฮฟ ฮฑฯƒฯ„ฮญฯฮน ฮตฮฏฮฝฮฑฮน ฮณฮนฮฑ ฯŒฮปฮฟฯ…ฯ‚ ฮผฮฑฯ‚
You and I are capable,
of loving each other.
Let us not forget about that.
We just have to drink this poison.
Because this love is enlarged
in deepest instinct,
of peaceful wounds and error,
of moments in retrospect,
—  Chuck Akot, momenti a posteriori

Passing into Nebraska
this passenger was
11 years old and whining
about the misperceived
nothingness
of the landscape

While chickens laid eggs
cattle gave birth to calves
the corn cobs grew golden
inside their husks and
life’s love bubbled up
from the soft kiss
of the Missouri
to the grand embrace
of the horizon

“Desert Places”- Robert Frost (1874-1963)

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it–it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less–
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars–on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

image

Cairn in Snow, Caspar David Friedrich, 1807