There were many nights when I would worry myself out of a dead sleep and think Christ, I’m not doing it yet, and I’d think, doing what, and I’d think back, the thing I’m supposed to be doing, the special thing, I’m not special yet, and I’m going to die if I don’t do it, and I’d think well what is it but I refused to elaborate.
"I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.”
(T.S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”)
places i wish i was
- on a spring picnic in a quaint english village
- eating macaroons in a parisian boulangerie
- sipping a pumpkin latte in a warm coffee shop on a rainy october day
- picking blackberries on an august morning
- at a summer evening garden party, wearing a white dress and drinking champagne
- exploring a very old cemetery
- in a rowboat, watching the sun rise on a misty morning
- watching the ocean waves from a high stony ledge
I don’t know which life I am living now.
A gentle wind leans into the trees. Evening
crawls up from the river bank. The words we never
say are looking for some path away from here,
maybe from that town a few hills over where
the leaves forget the earth that waits for them.
Richard Jackson, opening strophe to “Fear,” from Resonance: Poems (The Ashland Poetry Press, 2010)
“When I was excited about life, I didn’t want to write at all. I’ve never written when I was happy. I didn’t want to. But I’ve never had a long period of being happy, Do you think anyone has? I think you can be peaceful for a long time, When I think about it, if I had to choose, I’d rather be happy than write. You see, there’s very little invention in my books. What came first with most of them was the wish to get rid of this awful sadness that weighed me down . I found when I was a child that if I could put the hurt into words, it would go. It leaves a sort of melancholy behind and then it goes.”
"Here it is better to allow for what happens, all of it…
Have you noticed how uninvited
Anything pure is? Be brave.”
(William Stafford, “An Address to the Vacationers at Cape Lookout)
"I like to see people reunited, maybe that’s a silly thing, but what an I say, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and they crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone."
(Jonathan Safran Foer, “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close”)
"—so she built a skyscraper of procrastination"
(Ani DiFranco, “School Night”)
They spent the next half-hour texting. I wanted to text someone but no one was expecting to hear from me. I had friends but they were mostly school or church friends. We didn’t play with each other’s hair or tell each other our deepest secrets. It wasn’t at all what I’d thought junior high friends would be like—I thought we’d be sleeping in the same bed, shopping for clothes. I thought we’d tell each other everything. I knew it was my own fault. When someone lightly touched my arm or leg while we were talking, I flinched. I didn’t know how I could want things so badly while making it impossible to ever get them.
I just wanna wear red lipstick and be irresponsible