Unexpressed emotions will never die.
They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.
// Sigmund Freud
lifestyle
MIND: Conditional
Things are generally pretty bad and I don’t know how to fix them.
Sure, I know what ought to be done…but not how to do it.
// Anne Sexton
MIND: Sliced
…I’ve never felt good with the crowd. I never belonged, I still do not belong, but the worst part is I do not even belong with the best ones, the living ones. I seem sliced off forever by some god damn trick, either my imagining or some type of insanity, but even the good ones leave me dangling and I feel like a fool, and I know that I am a fool for I feel what I know…
Screams From The Balcony // Charles Bukowski
MIND: Fiery
Self-love is the foundation for your capacity to love the other person.
If you don’t take good care of yourself, if you are not happy, if you are not peaceful, you cannot make the other person happy.
You cannot help the other person; you cannot love.
Your capacity for loving another person depends entirely on your capacity for loving yourself, for taking care of yourself.
// Thich Nhat Hanh
MIND: Placement
You belong everywhere you go. That’s just how you are.
// Benjamin Alire Sáenz
MIND: Scales
You must love in such a way that the person you love feels free.
// Thich Nhat Hanh
MIND: Amnesia
I shall never forget her, my grief will never come to an end. I want only her. I can’t realize in the least that she is no more, and that I am never to see her again…
// Fyodor Dostoevsky
MIND: Write Me
I need to see you. I need to feel you.
I want the routine with you and I want the madness with you.
I want all of it with you. Feed the cats and get on the damn plane.
I want you here with me.
// Ernest Hemingway
MIND: Infinitesimal
I love.
I prefer a moment, a single moment of white heat, and, after it, destruction.
// Anaïs Nin
SOL: Homage
You exited my life with
As little fanfare as you entered.
A still-warm kiss on a lover’s
Forehead in the morning
Closing doors and speaking on
Tip-toe to pretend you are
Doing what you believe is just.
You make me weary.
Your absence leeches light from the
Hollows in my bones, but I abhor
To seek you, if only to prove to us both
That I do not need you.
I felt it when you kissed someone new and
I hoped her lips washed away the
Bitter taste I left behind.
Letter after letter was written by
Trembling hands, well-worn prose
I was too afraid to post.
Your existence is the knife I allow
To nestle in my right side as
A perpetual reminder that you left.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “You Sent Me Roses & I Kissed the Thorns.”
