MIND: Gifts

You have to take the other person into account even during an effusion of passion. You mustn’t hand out passion to them like a slap. It must remain a gift made in order to be received, an expression of feeling, a gift granted to and intended for someone — rather than being a mere organic outburst.

// Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre

MIND: Addictive

Something in you pacifies me.
You’ve always had that power over me – part of you pacifies, another terrifies.
How do I get sick of that? I will never get sick of that.

// Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin

MIND: Roots

I don’t lie to you.
Nor do I try to hurt you when I’m honest with you.
I’ve protected, or tried to, the best in you.
I never could promise to protect your body and soul –
nobody can promise another that.
We can only make one another strong, help each other to believe in ourselves.
He does not protect you – he makes you a slave.
You get befuddled.
You need him and he needs you – and it’s not true, it’s a lie, and you know it, and that’s the root of all your unhappiness.

// Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin

MIND: A Little Bit Drunk

Why don’t I get down on my knees and just worship you?
I can’t, I love you laughingly. Do you like that?
And dear Anaïs, I am many things.
You see only the good things now – or at least you lead me to believe so.
I want you for a whole day at least. I want to go places with you – possess you.
You don’t know how insatiable I am. Or how dastardly. And how selfish!

I have been on my good behaviour with you. But I warn you, I am no angel.
I think principally that I am a little drunk. I love you.
I go to bed now – it is too painful to stay awake. I am insatiable.
I will ask you to do the impossible. What it is, I don’t know.
You will tell me probably. You are faster than I am… it drives me crazy.
And the way you say my name! God, it’s unreal. Listen, I am very drunk.
I am hurt to be here alone. I need you.
Can I say everything to you? I can, can’t I?
Wrap your legs around me. Warm me.

// Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin.

SOL: I’m Not in Love

I’m not in love with you
I should be, hell, I might have been
In one fleeting moment between sobriety and intoxication
A brief pit stop between sanity and madness
Perhaps the first moment my inner monologue
Stopped identifying your eyes as simply “brown”
And gave them the complex tongue twisting title of
“Caramel chocolate in the sun with pistachio colored flecks in the morning”
I might have loved you the first time
You whispered my name with a mouth full of sleep
I could almost see each syllable do a pirouette
As it leapt off your tongue and into the air
You breathe me out as I breathe you in
I gave you all of me, whatever what was left
Which you took from me, gladly

3AM Thoughts // AKA “I Want All of You, Always.”