sweetestsecrets reblogged
Anne Sexton, from “Doors, Doors, Doors,” in The Complete Poems [ID in alt text]
sweetestsecrets reblogged
the hardest part isn't even the being alone - it is that i know i have all this love fossilizing in me, a pearl. a plum stone. it's that i want to find someone to fissure it out into; my palm an open cup.
i know one must love oneself first. i know friendships are real love. i know i know i know. but i also - so timidly - i keep picturing my life as being with someone. to hand them my heart and have them say ah, this is the kind of thing i was dreaming of.
sweetestsecrets reblogged
I haven’t been very impressed lately.
By people,
or places,
or the way someone said he loved me and then slowly changed his mind.
sweetestsecrets reblogged
William Wordsworth, Book VI: The Church-Yard Among the Mountains, from The Excursion (1814)
sweetestsecrets reblogged
September Affirmation (Don’t Be Afraid) by Keaton St. James
sweetestsecrets reblogged
― Ali Smith, The Whole Story and Other Stories
[text ID: It was a Sunday in September. There would only be four.]
sweetestsecrets reblogged
Wallace Stevens, ‘The Dwarf’, The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens
[Text ID: “Now it is September and the web is woven. The web is woven and you have to wear it.”]
sweetestsecrets reblogged
Someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. They can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. And whatever their reasons you must leave. Because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. You never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. And there is the love that will be ready.
Nayyirah Waheed (via thoughtkick)
sweetestsecrets reblogged
sweetestsecrets reblogged
Do you believe me if I say I only ever wanted to be worthy of my father’s grief? Of the kind of obsession that nearly drowns us?
— Julian Randall, from “Icarus Imposter Syndrome,” Refuse
sweetestsecrets reblogged
The Child Formerly Known As , Cameron Awkward-Rich
sweetestsecrets reblogged
memoryslandscape-deactivated202
When we slow,
the garden can choose what we notice. Can change
our heart.
Jack Gilbert, from “Burning (Andante Non Troppo),” Refusing Heaven: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2005)
sweetestsecrets reblogged
memoryslandscape-deactivated202
Deeper, deeper
down where a woman’s heart is holding its breath,
where something very far away in that body
is becoming something we don’t have a name for.
Jack Gilbert, from “Happening Apart from What’s Happening Around It,” Refusing Heaven: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2005)
sweetestsecrets reblogged
― Rainer Maria Rilke, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge
[text ID: To be loved means to be consumed. To love means to radiate with inexhaustible light. To be loved is to pass away, to love is to endure.]
sweetestsecrets reblogged
Journeys end in lovers meeting; I have spent an all but sleepless night, I have told lies and made a fool of myself, and the very air tastes like wine. I have been frightened half out of my foolish wits, but I have somehow earned this joy; I have been waiting for it for so long.
Shirley Jackson, from The Haunting Of Hill House (via adrasteiax)