I write because I am wretched, because I must make moan to someone or something. I write because I shall soon be dead. These lines will be the cold remains of my soul and thoughts and love, as my body will be the corpse of my warm flesh and blood. I write to declare my faith, to obtain pardon of my sins, to weep, because my tears strangle me and will put an end to me.
Juliette Drouet, from a letter to Victor Hugo, written on 1834
I'm tired of writing my own heaps of thoughts, give me yours, let the water flow from your mind, let me consume your convictions and let there be an amalgamation of ice cold water & fire.
-Anneshwa🌻
Constantly pulled between what we've been taught, what we know and what we feel.
“You have the blood of a poet. You have that and always will. You show, in the middle of savage things (that I like), the gentleness of your heart, that is so full of pain and light.”
— Federico García Lorca
Dear me,
You're nothing .
Simone de Beauvoir ― The Woman Destroyed
Jane Austen was right when she said “I am half agony, half hope.”
@bhoomisworld 💛
Sa‘id ‘Aql, tr. by Matthew Sorenson and Naomi Shihab Nye, from Modern Arabic Poetry: an anthology; “The Book of Roses”
heavy-handed with metaphor (as all lovers are) & filled to the brim with music
✨✨
she belongs in a museum of flowers, folded between the pages of a book to dry