The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything

“I am selfish, private and easily bored. Will this be a problem?”

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

—E. E. Cummings, Since Feeling Is First (via colporteur)

(Source: sunrec, via commovente)

exulansis

dictionaryofobscuresorrows:

n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

i meet you. i remember you. who are you? you’re destroying me. you’re good for me. how could i know this city was tailor-made for love? how could i know you fit my body like a glove? i like you. how unlikely. i like you. how slow all of a sudden. how sweet. you cannot know. you’re destroying me. you’re good for me. you’re destroying me. you’re good for me. i have time. please, devour me. deform me to the point of ugliness. why not you? why not you in this city and in this night, so like other cities and other nights you can hardly tell the difference? i beg of you.

(Source: stillbirthed, via starseas)

Life always continues its custom after us.
What a thing! What a shameless thing
life is, it only thinks of fulfilling its desires.
I said: Shall we make amends then and share
this absence? We are here alone in the poem.

—Mahmoud Darwish, from “Like a Hand Tatoo In the Jahili Poet’s Ode,” trans. by Fady Joudah, If I Were Another. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2011)

(Source: metaphorformetaphor, via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

you stopped me to tell me
to never come back. You meant it. I said
I wouldn’t. I meant flinching

is something I’d only do in oncoming light, never
the overcoat of a shadow; being the size of
a threat did strange things to my tongue.

—from “On Gentleness,” Jamaal May

(Source: kenomas, via fables-of-the-reconstruction)