Gotta nip them in the bud from now on
Rumi, from Bittersweet (tr. by Fereydoun Kia & Deepak Chopra)
Poetry is when a heart aches of love, pure genuine love, an offspring of happiness. It is when tears run down your cheeks due to the amount of love one can feel. it allows you a moment of pure ecstasy, so hypnotic to the eye of one who has once felt that pure love. Poetry is art. Art that creates ethereal imagery in your heart, and mind.
28/10
“It’s not ‘natural’ to speak well, eloquently, in an interesting articulate way. People living in groups, families, communes say little–have few verbal means. Eloquence–thinking in words–is a byproduct of solitude, deracination, a heightened painful individuality.”
— Susan Sontag, As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh (via the-book-diaries)
“Abandonment does not hurt me. It is the beauty of memories that ache my heart.”
_ S. K. S
When will you realize that you and I belong together
We may be toxic for one another but living another day with you is painful
The pain eats me away day by day
The moons calls to me at night, reflecting all our memories
The frosty cold night breeze prickles through my skin, reminding me of our romantic walks by the park and how you kissed me breathlessly as if I was your oxygen
“I do not desire mediocre love. I want to drown in someone.”
— (via nostalgicnerd)
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own