there are a great many things i want to tell you, but i will wait, not because i am afraid but because i want to experience things with you at the right time. i want to prolong these intoxicating feelings, this falling in love with you, tripping over what i feel for you, for as long as possible. there is no rush. we have all the time in the world.
i love you so much that the words themselves sound so incredibly lame. but now i'm tired. so i will end this and wrap my arms around your back and kiss your neck and i can't wait to feel this all over again tomorrow.
Know your voice.
Recognize you when you
first come ‘round the corner.
Sense your scent when I come
into a room you’ve just left.
Know the lift of your heel,
the glide of your foot.
Become familiar with the way
you purse your lips
then let them part,
just the slightest bit,
when I lean in to your space
and kiss you.
I want to know the joy
of how you whisper
A mature person does not fall in love, he or she rises in love. Only immature people fall; they stumble and fall down in love. Somehow they were managing and standing. Now they cannot manage and they cannot stand. They were always ready to fall on the ground and to creep. They don’t have the backbone, the spine; they don’t have the integrity to stand alone.
A mature person has the integrity to stand alone. And when a mature person gives love, he or she gives without any strings attached to it. When two mature persons are in love, one of the great paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: they are together and yet tremendously alone. They are together so much that they are almost one. Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free. There is no politics involved, no diplomacy, no effort to dominate. Only freedom and love.
As long as I can’t watch an episode of a popular sitcom without having to sit through multiple sexist comments or “jokes”, I am a feminist.
As long as women have to face the rational fear of being sexually assaulted every time they walk home past dark while men don’t, I am a feminist.
As long as misogyny exists in any country in this world, I am a feminist.
As long as women are being raped, then stoned to death or forced to marry their rapist, I am a feminist.
As long as companies promote men to manager when there are women who are equally as or better qualified, because they find that men look more authoritative, I am a feminist.
As long as women (her choice of clothes, her friendly nature, her weakness, her choice to drink alcohol) get blamed when men rape them, I am a feminist.
As long women’s opinions on online social networks are dismissed with phrases like “tits or gtfo”, “get back to the kitchen”, “are you pms’ing?”, I am a feminist.
As long as dressing like a women is degrading for men and as long as men are insulted with phrases like “you throw like a woman”, clearly implying that being like a woman is shameful, I am a feminist.
As long as both men are women are expected to work, but taking care of children and the household are still largely considered a woman’s job, I am a feminist.
As long as boys and girls are treated differently, expected to act differently, and surrounded by different toys and colours from the day they are born, I am a feminist.
As long as topless women aren’t allowed in public unless they’re on the cover of a men’s magazine, I am a feminist.
As long as women who have sex frequently are generally told they are “sluts”, “lacking self-respect” and “lacking morals” by both men and women, while men who frequently have sex are “just being men” and it’s “natural for them”, I am a feminist.
As long as there are places where women have to pay more for health insurance than men, I am a feminist.
As long as men experience situations with equal gender representation as female-dominated, and don’t consider a group discussion equal unless there are significantly more men then women participants (as has been proven), I am a feminist.
As long as there are men who think it’s their wife or girlfriend’s duty to have sex with him whenever he wants, I am a feminist.
As long as the word feminism (“the movement aimed at equal rights for women”) has a negative connotation, I am a feminist.
As long as misogynist people exist, I am a feminist."
they make me feel that it was all a dream, all my youth."
i am the pieces
he smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. it was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. it faced--or seemed to face--the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. it understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself.
“there must be quite a few things a hot bath won’t cure, but i don’t know many of them. whenever i am so sad i’m going to die, or so nervous i can’t sleep, or in love with somebody i won’t be seeing for a week, i slump down just so far and then i say: i’ll go take a hot bath. i mediate in the bath. the water needs to be very hot, so hot you can barely stand putting your foot in it. then you lower yourself, inch by inch, til the water’s up to your neck. i remember the ceiling over every bathtub i’ve ever stretched out in. i remember the texture of the ceilings and the cracks and the colors and the damp spots and the light fixtures. i remember the tubs, too: the antique griffin-legged tubs overlooking water taps and the different sorts of soap holders. i never feel so much myself as when i’m in a hot bath. i lay in the tub on the seventeenth floor of this hotel for women-only, high up over the jazz and push of new york, for near onto an hour, and i felt myself growing pure again. i don’t believe in baptism or the waters of jordan or anything like that, but i guess i feel about a hot bath the way those religious people must feel about holy water. i said to myself...they are all dissolving away and none of them matter anymore. i don’t know them, i have never known them and i am very pure. all that liquor and those sticky kisses i saw and the dirt that settled on my skin on the way back is turning into something pure. the longer i lay there in the clear hot water the purer i felt, and when i stepped out at last and wrapped myself in one of the big, soft white hotel bath towels i felt pure and sweet as a new baby.”
- sylvia plath, the bell jar