"Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that — I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn." - The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
"I felt like an undeveloped photograph that he was printing, my image rising to the surface under his gaze." - White Oleandar by Janet Fitch
"I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)" - Sylvia Plath
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)" - Sylvia Plath
"He is drawn to attractive women - even if it is not to search for a mate: - all through life I would be subject to a physical, hence animal jealousy of other attractive women - always afraid that a shorter girl, one with better breasts, better feet, better hair than I will be the subject of his lust, or love - and I would always be miserably aware that I had to live up to his expectations - or else, someone else would. - A woman, confined to the home, doesn’t have the opportunity to feed her ego on attractive men" - The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
"
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, “The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.”
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
"But my words become stained with your love. You occupy everything, you occupy everything." - So That You Will Hear Me by Pablo Neruda
Rehab journal: letters i’ve never sent
“Dear ____,
In the morning, the light comes through my window. I can see all the dust that just floats in the air. It’s beautiful and shapeless. It’s something I aspire to be. I don’t want a body anymore, I want an atmosphere. I want to be completely weightless. I want miles of wind for hair and two large lakes for eyes.
Do you ever wish such things?
Marla and I made paper snowflakes this afternoon. We hung them around the room, on all the window sills. She sang Christmas carols and I started to miss you. I don’t want to miss you anymore.
I want a Christmas without you. I want a fouth of July without you. I want a day without you.”
