from “Milk and Honey”

what i miss most is how you loved me. but what i didn’t know. was how you loved me had so much to do with the person i was. it was a reflection of everything i gave to you coming back to me. how did i not see that. how. did i sit here soaking in the idea that no one else would love me that way. when it was i that taught you. when it was i that showed you how to fill. the way i needed to be filled. how cruel i was to myself. giving you credit for my warmth simply because you had felt it. thinking it was you who gave me strength. wit. beauty. simply because you refused to take your eyes off it. as if i was already not these things before i met you. as if i did not remain all these once you left.

– Rupi Kaur

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What a privilege …

What a privilege it was to matter to you.

– Beau Taplin

I think we ought to read …

I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? …we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.

— Franz Kafka, January 27, 1904