Mother he is A gentleman of honor he is A builder of ships My hands have gone Coarse, upholstered in Orchard, mending, churn My corset has Collapsed, spider heap I freckle, I lengthen, I watch Other wives, the sweep Of their skirts, their flocking I am compassless, astir, A map trembling Mother I’ve grown Taller I’ve let down my hems I am fruit-stained Mornings, my harvest: golden persimmon, berries, pomegranate Bleeding they’ve named Their apples ‘Anna’ There are legends there are Saints at night He reaches for me, breathes Windlass, ballast, mast he talks In his sleep, make your bones A home for my love I am stair rail I am threshold he goes through me I am window undulating glass I am certain The hills crawl nearer In the night their roll and swell Mother I am well
“Now, I felt I had to go through our past plans about our future and undo it all.
I thought: we’ll never have a big wedding. We won’t have a small one. Our wedding won’t be medium-size. We’ll never know if our children might have been smart or worn glasses or had vocabulary words printed on index cards. We won’t be having any boys. No girls, no boys. We won’t call them anything. We’ll never argue about what to call them. I’ll never be unhappy with one of the names, and I’ll never tell him I wished our daughter were named something else. I’ll never pretend to like a name just because he liked it. No, we’ll never have that fight.
For that, at least, I am glad.
We’ll never say we love each other, and that this time we mean it like we haven’t meant it before and like we’ll never say it again to anyone else. No. We’ll never do that.”—Elissa Bassist, “The Never-to-Be Bride” (via leopoldgursky)
me:But seriously what's this obsession with languages?
me:No, I'm not making fun of you. I'm actually curious. Why do you want to speak so many languages?
him:Because communication is the only thing that connects people, and the only way to REALLY communicate with someone is to know their language, and I want to be able to connect to everyone. I don't want language to be a barrier, or rather, an excuse for me not being able to get to know people.
wow someone just sent me an essay trying to convince me I’m not a horrible person.
I barely know this guy but he basically psychoanalyzed me and convinced me that I am capable of making the needed changes in my life and then gave me a few reasons to continue getting up in the morning.
what a blessing, though, honestly. It made me really happy.
“Whenever I’ve tried to free my life from a set of the circumstances that continuously oppress it, I’ve been instantly surrounded by other circumstances of the same order, as if the inscrutable web of creation were irrevocably at odds with me. I yank from my neck a hand that was choking me, and I see that my own hand is tied to a noose that fell around my neck when I freed it from the stranger’s hand. When I gingerly remove the noose, it’s with my own hands that I nearly strangle myself.”—Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet