“Half-starved creatures sit in cafes and empty parks, watching others lead fuller existences. Their cheeks are sunken, expression sullen. They cannot recall the last occasion on which they cried out for help. But how their eyes weep for the tenderness of another, for the touch they have never felt. Maybe it is the growing numbness. Maybe it is the way they slowly retreat into themselves. They have never been easy to love, but they are the ones who beg for intimacy the loudest.”
and right now, i feel alone. i’m sitting in the sun, nothing is wrong, yet i dial my mom’s number, longing for her to tell me everything is okay. i listen to her voice, and i let my tears fall hoping she’ll recognize what in me needs fixing. i am my mothers daughter, and i hope whatever in me needs help, she has seen in herself before. i felt sad, i felt lost, and most of all i felt alone. so i called my mom. and sometimes i think that’s one way i’ll always stay a kid.
- n.c. // i’m getting older, but i’m not ready to grow up
“Once you start to speak of things that are precious, you are immediately anxious about how people will react to what you have said, and you want to protect these things, to defend them against incomprehension.“”
— Andrei Tarkovsky, from “Scenario and shooting script,” Sculpting in Time, trans. Kitty Hunter-Blair (University of Texas Press, 1987)
But an unquenchable love for you has never left meā¦
{Quotes: Alejandra Pizarnik, Approximations/Simone de Beauvoir, from Diary of a Philosophy Student: Volume 2, 1928-9; Sunday, October 7/chen chen, nature poem in āwhen i grow up i want to be a list of further possibilitiesā/sue zhao/ Sylvia path /Ā Maggie Nelson, Bluets/Richard siken/Ingeborg Bachmann, In the Storm of Roses fromĀ āThe Poem for the Readerā, tr. Mark Anderson ,paintings: pinterest}
