unfolding into another spring

mahmood darwish, sylvia plath, v.e. schwab, ana mendieta

buy me a coffee

[...] I’m so pathetically intense. I just can’t be any other way.

Sylvia Plath, The Letters of Sylvia Plath: Volume I: 1940 - 1956 — Edward Cohen, c. 11th September 1950

Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Ann Davidow-Goodman, featured in The Letters Of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956

[Text ID: I know I'll always think of you with something like hurt and nostalgia―and a great deal of love.]

Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Edward Cohen written c. September 1950

Just finished reading kafka's 'letter to my father' and can't stop thinking how crazy publishing an author's journals/letters after their death actually is. I mean I'll still be reading cuz i'm nosy but I doubt kafka wanted the world to read about his daddy issues 😭

Cheers to March and Spring 💗💐💗💐💗💐💗💐💗💐💗

I know I’ll always think of you with something like hurt and nostalgia—and a great deal of love.

Sylvia Plath, The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956

“ my very name translates to 'dichotomy'

a walking parallel

pure duality of body and heart

I am everything

I am nothing"

-a.d.

A dry yellow leaf drifts down from the trees above my head. This has been a perfect summer, but ever since our last rainfall there has been a sharpness in the air that fortells autumn.

The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940-1956, from a letter to Hans-Joachim Neupert, written on 24 August 1949

in March I'll be rested, caught up and human.

Sylvia Plath, The Letters of Sylvia Plath vol 1: 1940-1956

[…] we continually fascinate each other.

Sylvia Plath, The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume II: 1956–1963 ⁠—  Aurelia Schober Plath, 29th November 1956

"I can't deceive myself out of the bare stark realization that no matter how enthusiastic you are, no matter how sure that character is fate, nothing is real, past or future, when you are alone in your room with the clock ticking loudly into the false cheerful brilliance of the electric light. And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide. But the cold reasoning mass of gray entrail in my cranium which parrots "I think, therefore I am," whispers that there is always the turning, the upgrade, the new slant. And so I wait. What avail are good looks? To grab temporary security? What avail are brains? Merely to say "I have seen; I have comprehended?" Ah yes, I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me."

-- from The Letters of Sylvia Plath

she just gets it

Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Aurelia Plath written c. June 1952

Sylvia Plath, in a letter to Edward Cohen dated 11th September 1950; featured in The Letters of Sylvia Plath: vol. I: 1940 1956

I feel occasionally my skull will crack, fatigue is continuous - I only go from less exhausted to more exhausted & back again.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath