> Let's vanish in the air
"She is a year ago.
She is the ache in the empty,
the first time you changed your mind
and the last time you were sorry about it.
She is a city sleeping beside you,
warm and vast and familiar, streetlights
yawning and stretching,
and you have never. You have never.
You have never loved someone like this.
She is your first stomach ache.
Your first panic attack and your
favorite cold shower.
A mountain is moving somewhere
inside of you, and her handprints are all over it.
Here. Here. Here, you love her.
In the fractured morning, full of
too tired and too sad, she is the first
foot that leaves the bed.
She is the fight in you, the winning
and the losing battle
floating like a shipwreck in your chest.
When they ask you what your favorite moment is,
You will say Her.
You will always say Her."
- Caitlyn Siehl, Her, Her, Her  (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via violentwavesofemotion)

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spring time,2014 self-portrait 
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Favourite on Flickr.
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"I don’t dare breathe. You’ve made it impossible. I don’t dare face the day. I know it’s not the same as it was. You do too but you’re happier and all I’m left with is the memory of what always felt real but right now feels fading and distant. I don’t dare breathe because there’s this ache in my chest; and it’s not longing, it’s not wanting or desire, it’s nothing but a cruel, screaming pain. I don’t regret any of it because I know I have loved you completely. I still do, I still do and it’s breaking me down daily and I’ve been feeling so alone and unable to get up, act normal, be myself. I never knew who I was and I was content with not knowing until you made me want to know. And I came to know some parts, missed others, but you made it possible for me to listen, be attentive, stay bravely in search. And this process involved both of us in a way and I felt alive; so deeply, unreservedly, wholly alive. And now there’s this distance. There’s this constant distance and this shattering, tormenting silence. And I don’t dare breathe, I don’t dare move, I don’t dare conceal my present restlessness because I am here. I’m still here. I am here and I can feel you anywhere but here."

* by sentimentalite
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Jonathan Tropper, Everything Changes
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"I came back out, and Anne was sitting in the car - the top was down - just looking up into the trees. She was in some kind of hypnotic trance. She was mumbling, incoherent, and her eyes were very strange. I brought her out of the trance by kissing her. She didn’t want to go back to the hotel, so I drove down to the beach for some fresh air. She seemed to come around. She told me, "You know what the waves say? They say I am, I am.""
- Bob Clawson on Anne Sexton (via violentwavesofemotion) · Permalink · 304 notes

Summarit by blažena http://flic.kr/p/jxgzxh
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Tatia by stmuse on Flickr.
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"The first day I painted the walls blue. The second day I painted them green. The third day I lied down in the mattress.The empty room felt bigger. And on the fifth day I moved the mattress. After that I lifted it up…and placed it upright against the window…after that against the wall. I went to lie down. And on the sixth day, I wrote a letter. I made it clear what I meant. First I wrote three pages. Then I wrote the same thing on another six pages. On the eighth day I wrote the second letter while eating a lot of castor sugar. And I crossed out…and crossed off. A few lines remained. I stopped eating and I remained silent. A few days later I started over. After a few days I read everything I had written. I went to lie on my mattress and after a while I got undressed. Naked I went back and lied down. I placed my clothes on top of me and waited. I could hear myself breathing. I toyed with my breathing. Then I forgot about the game and waited. Again. I knew I was there for at least twenty eight days. It turned out that people were walking in the street. I waited. I waited until it had passed or until something happened. That I would believe in God or that you would send me gloves for the cold. I waited, that’s all. I realized that life stood still no matter what. That nothing would happen. I heard footsteps. Someone was looking at me. I stood still, motionless, nude so that other passers-by would see me. Few people walked by. After that no one. Only later, much later, did I see myself in the window. I looked at myself. I was gone."
- Je, Tu, Il, Elle (1976) dir. by Chantal Akerman (via violentwavesofemotion) · Permalink · 416 notes

sarah vantassel
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Half The Time (at Montrose Beach)
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— Sylvia Plath
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"He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair."
- Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things (via pavorst) · Permalink · 7,982 notes