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Истинският мъж споделя себе си само с жена с цъфнали очи. Той къса залъка от устата си на две и двете половини са винаги равни. С едната запечатва лявото око на жената, а с другата – дясното. Така жената ослепява за света наоколо и се осланя само на мъжкото рамо, което я води. Мълвата може да ги жигоса като странни...Но вечер жената спуска пердето на прозореца, а мъжът разпуска косата й. После сваля залъците от очите й и двамата се събличат, без да махат дрехите си: той сваля мъжкото си его, а тя – женската си лукавост. После се любят. Мнозина мислят, че това е най-нтересното, но не е. Самото любене няма значение за останалите – как, колко, защо. Но винаги накрая кукурига петел. И ето, това е загадката в цялата простичка история – откъде се взема петелът... ↗
I hate the way, once you start to know someone, care about them, their behavior can distress you, even when it's unreasonable and not your fault, even if you were really trying to be careful, tactful. ↗
The introduction was meant to be all important and elegant and meaningful and “This summer marks the voyage of discovery of Livia Stowe,” and instead all I’m doing is writing about the plane crashing and when they find my laptop the only message I’ll have left for my loved ones and the good of humanity is “Oh, noooooo, we’re all going to die! It was the turkeys!” They will know that I knew about the loose bit on the wing. And didn’t tell anyone. Okay, everything’s smoothing out again now. The flap is still flapping, but we’ve made it through the flying turkeys, and the plane has stopped bumping. The flight attendants still don’t seem bothered, so I think maybe I’m not going to die today. ↗
#love
But as to your writing me that I don’t love you very much, I don’t know whether you’re saying this in earnest or whether I should realise that you’re joking with me. Still, what you say disturbs me. You are measuring a very healthy expression of a wife’s loyalty by the standard of the insincere flattery of well-worn phrases. But I shall love you, my husband. What does it mean to you that you reassure me with those trivial little compliments? Do you want me to believe that you expect me to comb my hair in a stylish fashion for your homecoming? Or to feign adoring looks with a painted face? Let women without means, who worry and have no confidence in their virtue, flutter their eyelashes and play games to gain favour with their husbands. This is the adulation of a fox and the birdlime of deceitful bird hunting. I don’t want to have to buy you at such a price. I’m not a person who lays more stock in words than duty. I am truly your Laura, whose soul is the same one you in turn had hoped for. ↗
#laura-cereta #letters #romance #truth #love
Bryn,” he said. “Do you know how much I love you?” I smiled and answered with a hint of sarcasm in my tone, “Well, I’m not quite sure.” “No, I’m serious,” Tyler said, turning over onto his side so that he was facing me. His eyes were serious, something that I only saw when he really had something to say. “Yeah, I do. It’s the kind that hurts so good, right? Almost like you can’t breathe without the other person and the only thing that keeps you sane throughout the day is knowing that you’ll see that person soon enough. Nothing can come between you and that person. You would do anything for them. Be anyone they need you to be. Without thinking twice, you know you will be there, no matter what. That’s what loving you is to me. ↗
For, like desire, regret seeks not to be analysed but to be satisfied. When one begins to love, one spends one’s time, not in getting to know what one’s love really is, but in making it possible to meet next day. When one abandons love one seeks not to know one’s grief but to offer to her who is causing it that expression of it which seems to one the most moving. One says the things which one feels the need of saying, and which the other will not understand, one speaks for oneself alone. I wrote: 'I had thought that it would not be possible. Alas, I see now that it is not so difficult.' I said also: 'I shall probably not see you again;' I said it while I continued to avoid shewing a coldness which she might think affected, and the words, as I wrote them, made me weep because I felt that they expressed not what I should have liked to believe but what was probably going to happen. ↗
A dam inside my own heart opened up, and the feelings of heaviness and unease lifted like wind against the winter sky. I loved him. I loved his slow wit and his gruff demeanor and his tender disposition. I loved his endless empathy and his world-weary cynicism and his innocence. I loved that he was a walking, breathing paradox. I loved his lank hair and his iron earring and the tooth missing at the back of his mouth. I loved the way he laughed, music incomparable to any song, and the way he smiled, like you could see the child in him and the animal in him and the man in him all at once. I loved that he listened to crappy music, the kind that made me want to put my head through a wall, and I loved the charcoal stains on his knuckles and the pencils he tucked behind his ears. I loved that he told me to shut up as though I could actually say anything. I loved that he made me feel as though I could. I loved his short fingers and his rough palms and his long legs and his flat belly. I loved that he liked to read Kerouac but didn't know how to pronounce Kerouac. I loved his brown skin and his blue tattoos and his tempestuous blue eyes. I loved that he loved the land. I loved him. I loved him. Oh, God. I loved him. ↗
#love
It made her chest hurt, how much she felt in this moment. She knew she should not say anything impetuously. But under the light of the stained glass window, the flickering candlelight of their shared memories, it felt like simple unexamined honesty. No matter what the darkness brought back to her tomorrow. "I'm in love with you. ↗
The Ass I woke and rose and slipt away To the heathery hills in the morning grey. In a field where the dew lay cold and deep I met an ass, new-roused from sleep. I stroked his nose and I tickled his ears, And spoke soft words to quiet his fears. His eyes stared into the eyes of me And he kissed my hands of his courtesy. “O big, brown brother out of the waste, How do thistles for breakfast taste? “And do you rejoice in the dawn divine With a heart that is glad no less than mine? “For, brother, the depth of your gentle eyes Is strange and mystic as the skies: “What are the thoughts that grope behind, Down in the mist of a donkey mind? “Can it be true, as the wise men tell, That you are a mask of God as well, “And, as in us, so in you no less Speaks the eternal Loveliness, “And words of the lips that all things know Among the thoughts of a donkey go? “However it be, O four-foot brother, Fair to-day is the earth, our mother. “God send you peace and delight thereof, And all green meat of the waste you love, “And guard you well from violent men Who’d put you back in the shafts again.” But the ass had far too wise a head To answer one of the things I said, So he twitched his fair ears up and down And turned to nuzzle his shoulder brown. ↗
I think she's afraid to even hug me now. It's my fault, but I miss it, Andrew. I miss it so much it aches sometimes, you know?' I do know. I do know, I want to tell him, but I let him talk. And he does, with a gut-wrenching honesty that tears at my heart. 'I want to be held. Is that so wrong? I want to be held, and stroked. I want to know that someone loves me. I want to feel it on my skin.' He looks at the ceiling and exhales, then meets my eyes again. 'But nobody touches me anymore. Not even when I have a fever. Mom just hands me a thermometer now.' He drops his eyes and his ears redden. 'Even when you kiss me, you don't touch me. It's like I'm a leper or something. I can hardly keep my hands off of you, but it's not the same for you, is it? ↗
#loneliness #sensory-deprivation #touch-me #undesirable #word-of-your-body
