thinking about the quote “life is short. art is long” and how tragic it is that art lasts forever, but we don’t; how there will always be more books unread than read, more music unheard than heard, more paintings unseen than seen, and when i die, there will be countless more that i will never even have the opportunity to love and cry over and feel, because it certainly seems that there is more worth feeling in the world than time to feel it.

Because a song can take you back instantly to a moment, or a place, or even a person. No matter what else has changed in you or the world, that one song stays the same, just like that moment. Which is pretty amazing, when you actually think about it.

Sarah Dessen, Just Listen

You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame; how could you rise anew if you have not first become ashes?
—  Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

One of the risks of being quiet is that the other people can fill your silence with their own interpretation: You’re bored. You’re depressed. You’re shy. You’re stuck up. You’re judgmental. When others can’t read us, they write their own story — not always one we choose or that’s true to who we are.

Sophia Dembling

i think of you from the cozy comfort of my childhood bedroom,
i think of you from the starry darkness of my balcony
and i think of you from the loneliness of my favorite beach bench.
i think of you from a place in this world you might not know of,
a part of the world that might not exist to you,
i think of you from a town that remains nameless to you,
i think of you so as to bring you here,
closer to me.
i just want you here.
would you be so kind to come here, please?
—  i think of you, do you think of me?
The smell of rain,
the blooming of June flowers–
never have I been aware of this,
to enter the shadow of your laughter,
to collapse in those eyes,
but what I have enjoyed the most,
is the silence of the night– thick silence,
just you and I,
exceeding in the quiet solitude,
—  Chuck Akot, from Waterline and Other Poems, Fiori di giugno
lets do the things they said we shouldn’t do.
—  s.s. (stephenstilwell)

“Oh how lucky I was, to exist in the same place and time as you.”

-Excerpt from a book I’ll never write, 120

“The few and the fleeting”

2020 gothic

- you join a zoom call. everyone’s mic is muted, but no one is talking anyway. you stare at the squares with faces in them. which is your face? you can’t be sure.

- the news is full of numbers. you try to learn what they mean, but the articles are full of jargon from fields you have no experience in, and you swear the numbers change when you blink. 

- you wake up. you sleep. you wake up. you sleep. how many days was that? you have no idea.

- you go for a walk. a shadow follows you down the street, moving when you move, stopping when you stop. always the recommended six feet away.

- every day you get several emails from corporations you’ve never heard of. each company name sounds fake, too vague, too optimistic. “Stay healthy! :)” they say. “We’re committed to keeping you safe! You must stay healthy! We love you very much! We learned everything about you so we can keep you safe! Please believe us we love you so much we’ r e  , s 0Rry:):)):))”  You try to unsubscribe, but the link just takes you to a blank black webpage. Suddenly, you can make out your reflection in the screen. What’s that over your shoulder?

- you’ve been wearing the same clothes for days, but somehow there is laundry.