I want a soft love that feels like when ur standing in the sunlight and u don’t want to leave and that gives u the sensation of lazily melting into what’s around u as u take it all in.
“At times I hardly can believe in you.
Except this ache,
this longing in my gut,
this emptiness which theorizes you
because if there is emptiness this deep,
there must be fullness somewhere.”
“All I ever did to that apartment was hang fifty yards of yellow theatrical silk across the bedroom windows, because I had some idea that the gold light would make me feel better, but I did not bother to weight the curtains correctly and all that summer the long panels of transparent golden silk would blow out the windows and get tangled and drenched in the afternoon thunderstorms. That was the year, my twenty-eighth, when I was discovering that not all of the promises would be kept, that some things are in fact irrevocable and that it had counted after all, every evasion and every procrastination, every mistake, every word, all of it.”
— Joan Didion, “Goodbye to All That,” Slouching Towards Bethlehem
[Text ID: Maybe what I’ve been trying to say all this time, as an explanation and apology, is that I sense a mass of white noise in front of my face wherever I go. It stands between me and the world, between me and other people. More and more I am finding myself lost in it, unable to make it through to the other side.]
She liked to put her head on his chest and listen to his heart. “How could one person ever hurt another after doing this?” she’d asked him the first time. “But we do.”
