Slowly, Tenderly, And In Ever-growing Circles, He Moved His Palms Up From Her Feet Toward Her Ankles
Slowly, tenderly, and in ever-growing circles, he moved his palms up from her feet toward her ankles and from there toward her belly. All the while his lips muttered words that sounded like a secret ancient code to Ella. Suddenly she understood. He was praying. While his hands caressed every inch of her body, his eyes remained firmly closed and his lips prayed for her. It was the most spiritual thing she had ever experienced. And although she kept her clothes on, and so did he, and although there was nothing carnal about it, it was the sexiest feeling she had ever experienced.
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I hated you for a long time. From the time I was little, I used to think that I didn't belong in such a miserable little place, that I was someone who deserved to be in more comfortable circumstances. I felt it was unfair for you to treat me as you did. My classmates all seemed to be living happy, satisfying lives. Kids whose gifts and talents were far inferior to mine were having much kore fun than I was every day. I used to seriously wish that you were not my father. I imagined that this had to he some mistake; you couldn't possibly be my real father; there couldn't be any blood relationship.
—Tengo
Haruki Murakami, 1Q84, Book 2
And this love is about to carry me off somewhere. The current’s too overpowering; I don’t have any choice. It may very well be a special place, some place I’ve never seen before. Danger may be lurking there, something that may end up wounding me deeply, fatally. I might end up losing everything. But there’s no turning back. I can only go with the flow. Even if it means I’ll be burned up, gone forever.
— Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart
“I don’t care what you do to me, but I don’t want you to hurt me. I’ve had enough hurt already in my life. More than enough. Now I want to be happy.”
— Haruki Murakami
I roam around with memories of someone
~Atmaparichay, Harivansh Rai Bachchan
क्या आप मुझ पर खफ़ा हैं?
ये सासे जो पुकारती है मुझे, आपके हैं?
नस-नस में जो खून बेह रहा हैं,
न जाने कहाँ जा रहा हैं
काश इस जिंदगी ने बोल दी होती
सासे लेना क्या गुनाह हैं मेरी?
There is nothing more that I wish for, than to hold you in my arms Mi Amor
I mistook your daggers as smiles
Enomoto Seifu-Jo, tr. by Kenneth Rexroth, from Written on the Sky; Poems from the Japanese
Even before I was touched, I belonged to you; All you had to do was to look at me.
— Louise Glück, from Poems 1962-2012; "The Burning Heart"
Just awoken
From a three hour nap
Feeling wasted days
Drip away
Longing to keep wasting
Exhaustion taking
Over what’s left of
Late fall daylight
Lazing away
A chilly fall haze
Searching to remember
To be
In feeling
Waiting to want
To do
Anything
Even a pile of long over due
Doing nothing
As I sit
In my bed
Under warm heavy blankets
Warming cold hands
With thoughts
Of dreaming
Away the rest of my day
I make time to write
To settle my mind
Perhaps it needs startled
Out of looping time
My days have doubled
With a three hour nap
I might never arise
Out of morning glazes
Under warm heavy blankets
I want to be craving
