I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.

forgive me if i laugh
you are so sure of love
you are so young
and i too old to learn of love.

the rain exploding
in the air is love
the grass excreting her
green wax is love
and stones remembering
past steps is love,
but you. you are too young
for love
and i too old.

— Ballad, Sonia Sanchez
There are worldly people, heavy and wingless. Their sphere
is down below. There are among them strong ones: Napoleon. They leave terrible traces among men, and cause an uproar, but it is all on the earth. There are those whose wings grow equably, and who slowly rise and fly: monks. There are light people, winged, who rise easily from among the crowd and again descend : good idealists. There are strong-winged ones who drawn by carnal desires, descend among the crowd and break their wings. Such am I. Then they struggle with broken wings flutter strongly and fall. If my wings heal, I will fly high.
— Leo Tolstoy
People leave.
— Fact of the day.

“Everyone knows pain.

We are not meant to carry it forever.

We were never meant to hold it so closely.

So, be certain in the belief that what pain belongs to now will belong soon to then”

slimsdesigns:

رسالة من تحت الماء

slimsdesigns:

رسالة من تحت الماء

أرى سلمى بلا ذنبٍ جفتني … وكانتْ أمس من بعضي ومنّي
كأنّي ما لثمتُ لها شفاهاً … كأنّي ما وصلتُ ولم تَصلني
كأني لم أداعبها لعوبا ً … ولم تهفو إليّ وتَستزدني
كأنّ الليل لم يرضى ويروي … أحاديث الهوى عنها وعني
سُليمى … أه … أه … سُليمى
من عبدتُك بعدَ ربي سواء … في القنوط وفي التمنّي
غدا لما أموت وأنتِ بعدي … تطوفين القبور على تأنّي
قفي بجوار قبري ثم قولي … أيا من كنتُ منكَ وكنتَ منِّي
خدعتُك في الحياة ولم أبالي … وخنتُك في الغرامِ ولم تخنّي
كذا طبع الملاح فلا ذمام … فُطرن على الخداعِ فلا تَلُمني

I am yours as the summer air at evening is
Possessed by the scent of linden blossoms,

As the snowcap gleams with light
Lent it by the brimming moon.

Without you I’d be an unleafed tree
Blasted in a bleakness with no Spring.

Your love is the weather of my being.
What is an island without the sea?

Yours

by Daniel Hoffman

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