MIND: Grey

I think if you get sick, and ill and grey and exhausted due to the life a guy makes you lead, the guy is wrong for you. That seems a very simple yardstick but I believe in it.

// Martha Gellhorn, from a letter to Ernest Hemingway

MIND: Horizons

Deep in her soul, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like a sailor in distress, she would gaze out over the solitude of her life with desperate eyes, seeking some white sail in the mists of the far-off horizon. She did not know what this chance event would be, what wind would drive it to her, what shore it would carry her to, whether it was a longboat or a three-decked vessel, loaded with anguish or filled with happiness up to the portholes.

But each morning, when she awoke, she hoped it would arrive that day, and she would listen to every sound, spring to her feet, feel surprised that it had not come; then at sunset, always more sorrowful, she would wish the next day were already there.

Madame Bovary // Gustave Flaubert

SOL: Distant

The sickening moment of
It can’t be real, go back
The infinitesimal seconds between before and
After where everything is different
When it’s all so new that
You can’t even feel the hurt yet
The twenty-three seconds of suspense
Of self-induced purgatory, of serendipitous imbalance
Floating in a daze and staring in wonderment at
Karmic retribution, a vicious circle
The tricks a tired brain plays and
The drunk heavy tongue telling you it could have been worse
And you know it’s true but you still want
Seventy-five seconds of mourning
Or maybe twenty-four hours of loathing
Cursing the ill-fated luck that brought you
This lesson, imaging what you could have done differently until
It all blurs and you lose touch with reality
Again

3AM Thoughts // AKA “He Watches With Disdain As I Disappear Inside My Mind.”

MIND: Vice

So I withdrew to the farthest corner of my little room, sat on the floor, squeezed myself in between two walls, my head bowed. Yes. And sat there. Absolutely still. My heart was once again frozen and would not melt; every outlet was blocked and my brain squeezed by a large vice. And what I am waiting for whenever I sit huddled up like that is for something to give, for something to start flowing inside me.

Letters from Westerbork // Etty Hillesum

MIND: Retire

If ever I am independent, I will instantly retire to some solitude; I will see no one, not even you, and there I will live until the horrible disgust I feel at all that is human be somewhat removed by quiet and retirement. My heart is too full of hatred.

// Mary Shelley, from a letter to Marianne Hunt

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