Koraima

“On the surface, I was calm: in secret, without really admitting it, I was waiting for something. Her return? How could I have been waiting for that? We all know that we are material creatures, subject to the laws of physiology and physics, and not even the power of all our feelings combined can defeat those laws. All we can do is detest them. The age-old faith of lovers and poets in the power of love, stronger than death, that finis vitae sed non amoris, is a lie, useless and not even funny. So must one be resigned to being a clock that measures the passage of time, now out of order, now repaired, and whose mechanism generates despair and love as soon as its maker sets it going? Are we to grow used to the idea that every man relives ancient torments, which are all the more profound because they grow comic with repetition? That human existence should repeat itself, well and good, but that it should repeat itself like a hackneyed tune, or a record a drunkard keeps playing as he feeds coins into the jukebox...

Must I go on living here then, among the objects we both had touched, in the air she had breathed? In the name of what? In the hope of her return? I hoped for nothing. And yet I lived in expectation. Since she had gone, that was all that remained. I did not know what achievements, what mockery, even what tortures still awaited me. I knew nothing, and I persisted in the faith that the time of cruel miracles was not past.”
― Stanisław Lem, Solaris

“I hate being told what to do! Especially by myself!”
― Lynn Flewelling

“To give yourself over to another body
That’s all you want really
To be out of your own and consumed by another
To swim inside the skin of your lover
Not have to breathe
Not have to think
But you can’t live on love
And salt water’s no drink
We're dying of thirst so we feast on each other
The sea is still our violent mother
The blood round here pours down like water
Each wave a lamb lead to the slaughter
And like children that she just can’t teach
We break, and break, and break
And break ourselves upon the beach- Body of Water”
― Florence Welch, Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry

“The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar