Sylvia Plath, Letters Home (August 2, 1952)

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Lath

Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers at Last: New Poems

11/08. Got drenched while coming back home

Never loved rain more than today.

You don't like the bitterness of coffee until you are with the person with whom you have spent eternities together in the past, so the realization hits that it's the only pathway to your memories of childhood.

So you sip the bitterness calmly in hope of turning back time and meeting the daffodils you once grew together in your garden of innocence.....

~s

-J.R.R. Tolkien, the return of the king

"Why is it that when the story ends we begin to feel all of it"

- Rupi Kaur | the sun and her flowers

Here is my hand, he said Here is my hand that will not harm you.

— Louise Glück Epithalamium from "Descending Figure.”

Isn't it strange how the idea of comfort for us is so different?Like that's my favourite place to sit, that's my favourite blanket where I feel cosy, or those are my favourite colour of bedsheets. Looking at them just makes me feel so soft.It can be a candle that makes your heart feel lighter when you blow it out.Or it can be looking at colourful flowers or simply staring at the moon.It can be as simple as singing your favourite song whenever you want or as hard as making a painting of your messy thoughts.It can be walking down the street alone in the evening or talking with your friends for hours.I guess it is unique how we humans find comfort in things, foods, songs, places, and sometimes in people too.

And for you, a thousand times over I will.