"I like drinking coffee alone and reading alone. I like riding the bus alone and walking home alone. It gives me time to think and set my mind free. I like eating alone and listening to music alone. But when i see a mother with her child, a girl with her lover, or a friend laughing with their bestfriend, I realize that even though i like being alone, i don't fancy being lonely. The sky is beautiful, but the people are sad. I just need someone who won't run away."
– Hannah Nelson
"I had tea. I then spent a long time in a bookshop. A quiet evening."
– Virginia Woolf, A Passionate Apprentice: The Early Journals, 1897-1909
In my home there's gonna be a space for self-love and for accepting yourself. There's gonna be a room where everyone cherish and love themselves.
– Sylvia Plath, Journals of Sylvia Plath
[TEXT ID: "Cheers for spring; for life; for a growing soul." END ID]
Love really is just "I'm thinking of you. I will ask you if you are okay. I remember your favorite flavor of tea. I want to talk to you. I hope your mother is well. I will read to you. I like your laugh. I want to help you. I will sit next to you. I got you the chocolate you like. Your eyes have gold in them. I think you'd like this book. I miss you when you aren't here." isn't it?
– Via "becherdireinen" on Tumblr
Physically at home but mentally I'm in forest and making soup for myself.
Jean Cocteau to Jean Marais, 1939 / E. E. Cummings / A Warm Day by Louise Gluck / "Looking East" by Sara Linda Poly / "In the Stillness" by Sara Linda Poly / Debasish Mridha / Picture is from the Pinterest / Albert Camus / Bring Me The Sunset In A Cup by Emily Dickinson
"I made this soup for you." (I LOVE YOU)
"I sit with my grief. I mother it. I hold its small, hot hand. I don’t say, shhh. I don’t say, it is okay. I wait until it is done having feelings. Then we stand and we go wash the dishes. We crack open bedroom doors, step over the creaks, and kiss the children. We are sore from this grief, like we’ve returned from a run, like we are training for a marathon. I’m with you all the way, says my grief, whispering, and then we splash our face with water and stretch, one big shadow and one small."
– Callista Buchen
"Ah! There is nothing like staying at home, for real comfort."
– Jane Austen, Emma
Just read that "there's a difference between being happy and being distracted from sadness" and I felt this in my bones.
"What I needed seemed to be absent everywhere."
– Charles Bukowski.
When Albert Camus wrote "somebody inside of me has always tried, with all his strength, to be nobody."
