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#Franz no…
dailykafka · a month ago
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- July 1, 1913
- The diaries of Franz Kafka, 1910-1913
[ID: July 1. The wish for an unthinking, reckless solitude. To be face to face only with myself. End ID]
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ritikajyala · 6 months ago
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I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don't tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you're left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other's diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in '07.
Movies and books also don't tell you that friendships don't just end after one fight or incident, it's like the rusting of a bridge, the slow decay of flesh and bones and secrets. It took weeks, months- until one day I woke up and I realized I hadn't thought of her in a while. And I wrote a poem that day and I titled it 'The dying of a best friend' and I put all my love for her in a tiny box with my half of the matching pendant of a dolphin we had and stored them in a corner of my heart under the heading Grief. Where else can one hide unspent love?
It's been 3 years since I lost my best friend, lost as in I still carry our secrets in a tiny box but we only text each other on our birthdays.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire
Edit: here's the visualizer for this piece
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erased-blankfish · a month ago
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Franz kafka is... Bestie
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anaysa · a month ago
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Franz Kafka // Sylvia Plath
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sorryforthebonyelbows · a month ago
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Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka
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Allie Ray, Holler
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Richard Siken, Crush
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dark-romantics · 5 months ago
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I just wanna go to Italy and relax for a whole century
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tenderfaery · 5 months ago
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— Franz Kafka, Diaries, 1910-1923
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crimsonkismet · 12 days ago
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𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟹, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟽 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹
[ID: August 3. Once more I screamed at the top of my voice into the world. END ID]
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mazovian · 9 months ago
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luthienne · 5 months ago
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Franz Wright, from God's Silence; "East Boston, 1996"
[Text ID: Walking home, for a moment / you almost believe you could start again. / And an intense love rushes to your heart, / and hope. It's unendurable, unendurable.]
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ritikajyala · 6 months ago
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Last night, I told my mother "I wish I was dead" in a fit of rage and winter clouded her eyes. But it wasn't white and it wasn't quiet, it resembled something like helplessness and rage. She was in pain and I knew I hurt her. I wanted to say something, anything, but how do you withdraw a declaration of war? How do you stop the bombs that already destroyed homelands? In that moment I remembered how she always told me that when she was a kid, she was too afraid to sleep with the lights on. Not because she was afraid of monsters, but because she feared her grandmother would die. Because when you're a kid, not seeing it means it doesn't exist anymore. I saw the winter in her eyes again and I knew I had switched off the light, she wasn't angry, she was afraid.
And I also remembered how she always told me I'd always be 3 years old for her, always a child, and for the first time, I heard in the voice of a three year old "I wish I was dead". My heart broke. And I wanted to hug her and hold her, tell her I was sorry, that I didn't mean it. Before I could move a hand, she left the room. The entire evening, I saw myself as she saw me, a 3 year old child. I saw the child hurt herself and cry herself to sleep every week, fight her friends with her tiny hands and two ponytails, I saw her depression and her anxiety, I saw her yell "I wish I was dead" and I knew. I knew. I wanted to shout through the walls, yell and cry and tell my mother that now I KNEW, but I didn't. I wept and wept until I heard a quiet knock and a soft familiar voice whispered, "Dinner is ready".
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire
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firstfullmoon · 23 days ago
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Franz Wright, from “Our Conversation” [ID in alt text]
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metamorphesque · 6 months ago
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— Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice
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dailykafka · a month ago
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- July 13, 1916
- The diaries of Franz Kafka, 1914-1923
[ID: July 13. Then open yourself. Let the human person come forth. Breathe in the air and the silence. End ID]
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thoughtkick · 4 months ago
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What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.
Franz Kafka
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girlfromenglishclass · a month ago
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Tumblr is the social media for people who call dead novelist Franz Kafka "babygirl."
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americanphysco · a month ago
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it's not the first of the month until kafka starts trending on tumblr
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