Shirley Jackson ― We Have Always Lived In The Castle

Identity

I am a dissatisfied soul who is bound in the shackles of unspoken feelings. I am a traveler who travels alone and is involved to incite the glimmer lamp of life. I am the enlighten essence of poetry. I play the flute of intimacy of love. I like the fragrance of orange jasmine of the white garden. I am ready to die for the pink rose growing in the snow. I am sad for your cutted black hair. The memory of your decorated colorful skirt makes me desperate. I am burnt as it fades away. I am waiting for you.

অব্যক্ত অনুভূতির শৃঙ্খলে আবদ্ধ এক অতৃপ্ত আত্মা। মিটমিট করে জ্বলে যাওয়া জীবন প্রদীপকে উদ্দীপ্ত করতে নিয়োজিত একলা পথচলা এক পথিক যার মনোজগত সবসময় উদ্ভাসিত। আমি রোদেলা কাব্যের কাব্যরস। আমি প্রণয়ের বাজাই বাঁশি। শুভ্র কাননে কামিনী ফুলের সুবাস আমায় মুগ্ধ করে। আমি বরফে জন্মানো গোলাপী গোলাপের জন্য মরতে প্রস্তুত। আমি তোমার কেটে ফেলা কালো কেশের জন্য ব্যথিত। হরেক রঙে সাজানো তোমার স্কার্ট আজও আমায় স্মৃতিকাতর করে। আমি তার রঙ হারানোর বেদনায় দগ্ধ। আমি নির্ঘুম। আজ আমি তোমার জন্য অপেক্ষারত।

—Chris Mc Geown

“In certain areas of my life, I actively seek out solitude. Especially for someone in my line of work, solitude is, more or less, an inevitable circumstance. Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person’s heart and dissolve it. You could see it, too, as a kind of double-edged sword. It protects me, but at the same time steadily cuts away at me from the inside.”

— Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

{Tokyo Story (1953), Dir. Yasujirô Ozu / Nizar Qabbani}

- Moonlight -

- Wit, Oathbringer

Still.

I miss you so much in this moment. My skin comes alive with chills. My eyes, with tears. My heart with a dull, familiar ache.

I wish you could hear me. I wish you could sense how much I need you. I wish you could see who I am. I wish you would come back to me again.

How could you just let me go And live on without a word or a thought?

How could you just walk away Without a wonder or a regret?

How am I supposed to forget you When your body brought me to life? Even though you almost extinguished the fire in my soul.

Your neck. Your back. Your arms. Your hands.

Your fingers.

Your chest. Your stomach. Your hips.

Your thighs. Your calves. Your feet. Your toes.

The heat between your legs.

Your hair. Your ears.

Your eyes. Those eyes.

Your lips. Your nose.

Your voice. Your breath.

Your kisses.

Your smile. Your laughter.

I miss all of you. I remember all of you. Every precious inch of you.

I remember the way you felt inside of me. I remember the way your body moved, Always with intention; Always in control. Steady. Strong.

I remember the weight of your silhouette And your hips between my legs While you leaned down to kiss me And I curled my fingers in your hair, Wrapped my thighs around your waist.

I let myself dissolve into your rhythm. I let you lose yourself inside of me.

I remember catching your groans in my throat, The play of your tongue.

I remember how it felt To inhale your breath. It was sweeter than any air. It was pure energy. It fed me.

I remember your whispers. Your questions. Your instructions. Your revelations. “Yes.”

I begged you “Please.” Always. “More.”

I called out to God. I moaned your praises.

You are etched into my mind.

You are traced into my soul.

You are bringing me to my knees. Without a word, without a glance, without a breath.

I’m shackled by a memory. A ghost.

Anne Michaels, from Skin Divers; “Skin Divers”

“I suffered holy pains.”

— Herman Hesse, Steppenwolf

“A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.”

— William G.T. Shedd