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tomorrowmydear · 23 days
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"if i was orpheus i would simply not turn around" yes you would. if you were orpheus and you loved eurydice, you would. to love someone is to turn around. to love someone is to look at them. whichever version of the myth — he hears her stumble, he can't hear her at all, he thinks he's been tricked — he turns around because he loves her. that's why it's a tragedy. because he loves her enough to save her. because he loves her so much he can't save her. because he will always, always turn around. "if i was orpheus i would simply —" you wouldn't be orpheus. you wouldn't be brave enough to walk into the underworld and save the person you love. be serious
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tomorrowmydear · 26 days
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tomorrowmydear · 26 days
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it gets better
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tomorrowmydear · 1 month
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Introduction to The Iliad, Emily Wilson
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tomorrowmydear · 2 months
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I have an end-of-life patient to whom I spoke today. She burst out laughing and said, "It was all such fun. I just had so much fun." I wish this for everyone. I wish that we each would meet death laughing, with little regret and even less fear.
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tomorrowmydear · 3 months
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they're singing!
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tomorrowmydear · 4 months
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Chew your way into a new world. Munch leaves. Molt. Rest. Molt again. Self-reinvention is everything. Spin many nests. Cultivate stinging bristles. Don’t get sentimental about your discarded skins.
Amy Gerstler, an excerpt from the poem ‘Advice from a Caterpillar’
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tomorrowmydear · 4 months
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Sometimes a Son’s Greatest Fear is Becoming His Father
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tomorrowmydear · 4 months
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Naomi Shihab Nye
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tomorrowmydear · 4 months
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mitski / tamino / trista mateer
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tomorrowmydear · 4 months
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“Growing Around Grief”
Lois Tonkin, 1996
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tomorrowmydear · 4 months
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tomorrowmydear · 4 months
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this is a prayer to me
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tomorrowmydear · 4 months
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fyodor dostoevsky (the brothers karamazov), charles bukowski (a vote for the gentle light)
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tomorrowmydear · 6 months
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Natalie Díaz, from “American Arithmetic”, Postcolonial Love Poem (2020)
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tomorrowmydear · 6 months
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Charles van den Eycken - Happier Than a Prince (1916)
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tomorrowmydear · 6 months
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― Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
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