"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. Like my kisses before.
Her void. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”
- an excerpt from “Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines” by Pablo Neruda
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom and carries hidden within itself the light of those flowers, and thanks to your love, darkly in my body lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets, Sonnet XVII, 1960 (via bookmania)
His art was suggested by a friend. This one is my favorite so far.
Running was a brief reprieve - releasing me from the hold my thoughts have had over me today. Writing isn’t an option. My mind is so muddled. These 4 sentences alone took 10 minutes. Reading seems to be my last hope. Maybe romanticizing my reality is the breather I need. Here’s hoping.
Movies give nice guys happy endings so nice guys in real life don’t kill themselves when they don’t get theirs,
The worst part is I really do like being detached and a loner..until I don’t anymore.
I’ll keep trying, though. Being alone is much worse than feeling alone.
I never know if I did well or not. So, I just assume the worst and put the walls back up. It’s selfish to ask for transparency when I don’t provide it myself, but ultimately I’m just looking to be myself again.
I want so badly, not to be tired. The fatigue of my american dream sets in and with it, guilt. Guilt for resenting what others long for. They long to be tired, so badly.
The eight-hour workday developed during the industrial revolution in Britain in the 19th century, as a respite for factory workers who were being exploited with 14- or 16-hour workdays.
As technologies and methods advanced, workers in all industries became able to produce much more value in a shorter amount of time. You’d think this would lead to shorter workdays.
But the 8-hour workday is too profitable for big business, not because of the amount of work people get done in eight hours (the average office worker gets less than three hours of actual work done in 8 hours) but because it makes for such a purchase-happy public. Keeping free time scarce means people pay a lot more for convenience, gratification, and any other relief they can buy. It keeps them watching television, and its commercials. It keeps them unambitious outside of work. http://www.raptitude.com/2010/07/your-lifestyle-has-already-been-designed/