Language is what honors the vanishing.
Or is language what slows the leaving?
Or does it only deepen what we know of loss?
Inside us, constellations,
bit thread knotted into night’s black drape.
There are no right words,
if by right we mean perfect,
if by perfect we mean able to save us.
-From "The Failure of Language" by Jacqueline Berger
I have been told that when a loved one dies
the worst part is not the shock, or the blood,
or how grief colors all the places your hands touch.
The worst part is when the world heals you too well.
Years later, when you begin to forget their face
and their voice becomes a song
you do not remember the tune for.
After the burial, when the body just a fact.
A memory only confronted when prepared.
I do not have this problem of forgetting.
I remember your face exactly. Your voice is right here,
coloring my voice. Nothing is helping me
to forget your hands,
how they shook like apologizing mountains
hollowed in their wisdom.
I do not now about the part
where you cannot remember grief.
Grief comes for me every morning,
dragging your last breaths behind him
like screaming children.
This aphorism seems a privilege
of bad memory. The brain does this.
It hides the worst. It is the reason we look at scars
and say All I remember was the screaming.
Then everything went black. When I woke up
the worst of it was over.
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Mouth like the lock on a jewelry
box. Mouth like a bruise,
like something that gets
under the skin.
Mouth like where the hell did she
Mouth like a marching band, like
a parade of sighs.
Mouth like she must be magic,
she must be.
Mouth like pick a card, any card.
Mouth like an opera. Mouth like
I don’t understand you but
I am crying, anyway.
Mouth like a river, like diving
head-first into it. Mouth like a
coffin you want to die in.
Mouth like you’ll never recover,
like nothing will ever be like this
again, and you’re sure of it.
Mouth like do you love her?
Mouth like do you love her or do
you just not want to kiss anyone
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"Hit me my thesis is due in 12 hours and I haven’t started it"
"Hit me I have a final in an hour and I didn’t study"
"Hit me I’ve been on a 24 hour drinking binge and I’m invincible"
"Hit me. You’re a university vehicle and I’ll get free tuition."
"Hit me I feel like a failure anyway"
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— Ralph Waldo Emerson (via aestheticintrovert)
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— Lena Dunham (x)
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— Ted Hughes, Birthday Letters (via splitterherzen)
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