Resmaa Menakem, My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies
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“My solitude is sacred. I won’t let anyone take it from me anymore—”
— Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, from “Rien ne va Plus,”
(via violentwavesofemotion)
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Moon (Nov. 19, 2021)
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god i love doomed romances because it’s like. “what is grief if not love persevering” but the grief and love are happening at the same time. how do you grieve something that’s still alive? how do you love something that has always been dead? and the answer is just. intensely.
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— Oscar Wilde
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― Clarice Lispector | The Complete Stories
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“Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.”
— (via amargedom)
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2020, a summary
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dearest luna, can you tell me something real? i am becoming more and more forgetful these days.
When I close my eyes, I see green dots scattered everywhere—but they always look like someone dancing happily in a circle. On the last full moon, the last man I fell in love with tired to contact me, but I never seem to get much of a reply from him. Gravity—it is what keeps the planets from melting into one another. Oddly I am convinced it is the glue that held me together. Grief reminds me of sour milk, but lately grief is tangy. Too many eaten chocolates and laughter and happy memories and before you know it you’re on the phone crying about how the chocolate won’t taste the same and how you still should always choose happiness. I’ve learned I laugh and cry about the same things.
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let go of what wants to leave
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- Mark Zusak
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