The glass does not break because it is glass,
Said the philosopher. The glass could stay
Unbroken forever, shoved back in a dark closet,
Slowly weeping itself, a colorless liquid.
The glass breaks because somebody drops it
From a height — a grip stunned open by bad news
Or laughter. A giddy sweep of grand gesture
Or fluttering nerves might knock it off the table —
Or perhaps wine emptied from it, into the blood,
Has numbed the fingers. It breaks because it falls
Into the arms of the earth — that grave attraction.
It breaks because it meets the floor’s surface,
Which is solid and does not give. It breaks because
It is dropped, and falls hard, because it hits
Bottom, and because nobody catches it.
- "Fragment," A. E. Stallings (via elucubrare)
Her power had left her. Illusion had failed. "This is death," she murmured, "death." The whole world was filled with dumb yearning.
-  Virginia Woolf, from Between The Acts (via violentwavesofemotion)
devolving into caricature

i don’t know why i ever thought i should sleep, here.

here, where i can’t even breathe. 

The more I write, the more the silence seems to be eating away at me.

I detest the 100-character limit on replies to posts via iPhone.

the 250 given us over computer is measly enough, but to cut it in twain? who can say anything productive with one hundred letters and spaces? not i, obviously.

the concert this afternoon was good.

it was well-sung. triumphal. it should have been enough. i was happy while it lasted; to do and with the collective doing.

it wasn’t.

this night is just as hard as were the ones preceding. whatever its respite, today has tasted of nothing so much as flaw. like ash. impossible to smoke out no matter how starved the heat.

Please give me some time to grow up myself so that I can let you go longer. Meanwhile try to put up with me the way I am.
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