He weeps as he lifts me onto our bed. My corpse sags. It is warm in the tent, and the smell will come soon. He does not seem to care. He holds me all night long, pressing my cold hands to his mouth.
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I still crave understanding - sometimes.
Mary Oliver, from Long Life: Essays And Other Writings originally published in 2004
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I was the first person to touch them in over two thousand years. Their pretty little bones. Fragile in all the space rot and decay had slowly taken over and occupied; past the marrow and ivory.
They - not it - must have been lonely. In all the time they were left alone for.
I think some of us feel the rot before it starts, churning in our stomachs and dripping colour from our veins to our cheeks.
You don’t know what it is yet, but you can still feel it, a lack of knowing our warmth that has us disgusted for another’s.
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“My soul shattered with the strain of trying to belong to earth-“
Louise Glück, from "Persephone the Wanderer", Averno
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If I am ever caught in the wrong place at the wrong time for just being alive - please do not ask why I stayed.
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Cupid and Psyche
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His sallow complexion dying in sympathy with them; and his lost look of a man who realized that all this dying was going to be the only life he ever had
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Cecilia lived in a world that fell short of her dreams, but it was as real as any other.
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Even to us, the scars were invisible, deceiving in the way they shaped us.
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They were terrified that death would be just like everything else.
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She was a dreamer and when she jumped; she probably thought she would fly.
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The Virgin Suicides 1993
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I love you irreparably as we love the sea
-Maria Caesares to Albert Camus, October 13, 1957
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It is a strangely treacherous feeling, to see you here in front of me when I’ve been staring at after images of you in places you haven’t been in years.
-Forgotten places
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The way straggling stars bite through the sky’s milky haze-
The way you looked at me and I wondered how anyone thought the sky could be purely black in the murky graveyard above.
The way that something falls and doesn’t know how to go back.
When things are gone, I like to think they got lost in the recollection of what they used to be.
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These are not my tear drops, darling dear, but just a sheen of dew that lingers here, past other fields where other fathers lie, who kept their daughters better far than I.
-Giuseppe.
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“You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I'm not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you”.
//An anatomy of rains
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//Imavera di sandro Botticelli - la primavera (1477-1478)
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Conversations with a dying man - Ilya Repin. Ivan the terrible; falling at the knife.
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Clive Barker - Author of the Hellbound Heart
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