“…perhaps somewhere, someplace deep inside your being, you have undergone important changes while you were sad.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (via theclassicsreader)
The inherent violence of buildings you have known being destroyed. I’m not saying this from an activism perspective, I’m talking about the shock to the system and the incomprehensible nature of a whole building simply not existing anymore. Rooms that you will be unable to visit again or make more memories in. It’s like a death. And we very rarely hold funerals for it. Am I making sense? I feel like i’m going crazy
I will never climb into the rafters of the barn I spent my childhood in again. It was torn down and burned and now our garage is there. The particular old-wood smell of my great grandmother’s house, the bumpiness of the worn floors, the chunk of missing plaster above my bed there that I would stare at as I fell asleep. All gone. My university’s library, with the archival room that ate up sound and went on forever and I always go to study, it’s getting torn down after finals this year. I will never be in these rooms again. I am going crazy.
i just want to be a cat in late spring. because then i could just sit in the sun and blink slowly and maybe chase a bug. i think that’s what we all want
this spring is slicing me in half. like an apple. will not be explaining what i mean by this