Faded Fantasy3 читателя тэги

I like high places now, and night. I’ve come to associate altitude and darkness with a kind of tenderness–it’s a time when I let my mind wander, when I dream, when my cigarettes seem to taste different. It’s the time when I love you.

I adore you, but I hate you too. You’re a prison smothered in flowers. I can’t stand this enchantment anymore, I can’t stand being bewitched like this–when I look at you, my gaze turns to nothing but a mirror of light, I’ll stare at you hypnotized for ages, and when I stop seeing you I’ll feel you, and when I stop feeling you I’ll die.

Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.

You don’t want to hear the story

of my life, and anyway

I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.

And anyway it’s the same old story—

a few people just trying,

one way or another,

to survive.

Mostly, I want to be kind.

You are killing me, but you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you. Come оn and kill me. I do not care who kills who.

Someday, somewhere, with someone, there may be the chance to balance, to stabilize, to learn to integrate all. Who knows? But maybe?