fionapear reblogged
Barbara Ras, from “You Can’t Have It All” [ID in alt text]
fionapear reblogged
Don’t Hesitate by Mary Oliver
If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.
fionapear reblogged
Naomi Shihab Nye, “Sifter.” A Maze Me: Poems for Girls
fionapear reblogged
fionapear reblogged
on being the one to pull away.
mishka jenkins, the wayhaven chronicles | natalie diaz, when my brother was an aztec | a primer for the small weird loves, richard silken | mishka jenkins, the wayhaven chronicles | cj hauster, the crane wife | dylan thomas, from a letter to caitlyn thomas | anonymous | mishka jenkins, the wayhaven chronicles | gabrielle bates and jennifer s. cheng, so we must meet apart | richard silken, war of the foxes
fionapear reblogged
arabic poetry is so beautifully yet painfully romantic, i mean “they asked “do you love her to death?” i said “speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life" and “because my love for you is higher than words, i've decided to fall silent" and "it is not enough to say love in Arabic, you must say 'be the thing that buries me'" could have got jane austen crying and shaking
fionapear reblogged
Sandra Cisneros, from "Tea Dance, Provincetown, 1982", Woman Without Shame
Sandra Cisneros, from "Tea Dance, Provincetown, 1982", Woman Without Shame
the lives they lived: jeff buckley; his father's son
fionapear reblogged
“When my nineteen-year-old son turns on the kitchen tap and leans down over the sink and tilts his head sideways to drink directly from the stream of cool water, I think of my older brother, now almost ten years gone, who used to do the same thing at that age; And when he lifts his head back up and, satisfied, wipes the water dripping from his cheek with his shirtsleeve, it’s the same casual gesture my brother used to make; and I don’t tell him to use a glass, the way our father told my brother, because I like remembering my brother when he was young, decades before anything went wrong, and I like the way my son becomes a little more my brother for a moment through this small habit born of a simple need, which, natural and unprompted, ties them together across the bounds of death, and across time … as if the clear stream flowed between two worlds and entered this one through the kitchen faucet, my son and brother drinking the same water.”
— A Drink of Water BY JEFFREY HARRISON
fionapear reblogged
big star fizzing (at the turn of a new month)
fionapear reblogged
Emily Dickinson, To March
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— Fiona Apple
fionapear reblogged
someone please help me find that quote about how someone was overwhelmed with the weight of the world and their problems when they were physically alone, but that weight felt like nothing in the presence of a friend and good conversation
is it this one?