Frustration / Longing / Love

{David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest/ Friedrich Nietzsche, from a letter to Malwida von Meysenbug wr. c. 1876/ Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters/ IDK You Yet, Song by Alexander 23/ Robert Desnos/ Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares written c. June 1944/ Emily Brontë, from The Collected Novels; "Wuthering Heights,"/ Caroline George, Dearest Josephine/ Srinivas Mishra/ Unknown/ Maria Casarès to Albert Camus, Correspondance, Christmas, 1948/ Unknown}

“I fell asleep in the deep velvet of this wood; I dreamt divine things.”

— Delmira Agustini, from Morning Songs: Poems; “The Wings,” c. 1910

Rainer Maria Rilke, "You who never arrived." The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Stephen Mitchell)

—H.G. Wells, The Time Machine

“We are all the dead. I am not apart from you for long, except for breath, except for everything.”

— Forgotten Portraits by Janine Solursh (via decreation)

Ada Limón, "In the Country of Resurrection" // Jack Kerouac, Big Sur // Mary Oliver, "The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac" // Gregory Orr, "To Be Alive" // Dino Ahmetović // Siniša Simon, Magic Dance // Mary Oliver, Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver // Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra (trans. Olga Voronina & Brian Boyd) // Mary Oliver, "Toad" // 木苏里, 全球高考 (Global Examination)

Nikita Gill, from “Great Goddesses: Life Lessons from Myths & Monsters,”

“everything beautiful in us / is already / dying.”

— — Gwen Benaway, from day/break (via lifeinpoetry)

“yes, our story ended. i lost you without warning, without justice, without meaning; but somewhere, out there in time, in an alternative universe, we’re meeting for the first time, i look at your lips eagerly, you laugh. somewhere out there we have a whole future ahead of us, an unlimited number of days. and that is not sad, darling. that is beautiful.”

— and until we meet again, i will carry you with me. // V.R. (via liethargy)

Besides, who knows what to do with love? It may not make it through one cigarette. And it’s enough to kill you, how dark it is how cold we seem even in our own misery all while knowing we will miss this. We will miss this when it ends.

— Alex Dimitrov, from “Winter Solstice,” Love and Other Poems