Sunday, 24 November 2013

Darling, I don’t want you; I’ve got no place for you; I only want what you give. I don’t want the whole of anyone…. What you want is the whole of me-isn’t it, isn’t it?-and the whole of me isn’t there for anybody. In that full sense you want me I don’t exist.
— Elizabeth Bowen, The Death of the Heart

Friday, 22 November 2013

childhood flashback

sometimes the close connection between the mind, and reality bewilders any and all words 

Wednesday, 20 November 2013


They flow often
Thank you for aiding
Each and every one of you

please move // back here

The heavy breathing is gone
I'm content once again
And that's what matters most
Thank you for reminding me
Once again distance does not prevail
Our kindred spirits

Saturday, 9 November 2013

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

"Women like me do not fall gracefully, 
we stumble over our spines, trip over
our vowels, and collapse into your arms.
Our hearts are open books,
Russian novels containing fifty pages
on the way your voice drifts across
the telephone wires each night.
Our hearts are first drafts,
unedited verses about each and every
person we have ever loved: the stranger
on the subway, the girl who gave us a balloon,
the boy who stole our virginity
but not our heart.
Women like me will love you from a distance
of a thousand syllables while laying in your bed,
we will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible,
and when we leave you will finally understand
why storms are named after people."

Katrina, M.K.