|—||Sallust (via itsquoted)|
|—||Søren Kierkegaard (via itsquoted)|
As I descend inexorably toward the infernal depths of nihilism, I yet endeavor abortively to grasp the hand of one in whom I may find the salvation that exists not in the wretched existence in which we all languish.
The desperation with which I precipitate that dysfunctional sentimentality of mine into the vacuous space by which I am surrounded subordinates the consideration of others to the consideration of myself. Such a reprehensible propensity contravenes the principles of integrity on which I still attempt to predicate my conduct.
Perhaps “nihilism” is far too strong of a word, for I yet believe in notions such as “integrity” and “rectitude.” These human beacons are wanting of their youthful brilliance, however; scarcely a few feet beyond their situations can be seen their promises of salvation achieved by unwavering adherence to stringent virtuosity, for the frenetic tempest of my heart imbibes even the brightest of lights.
I know with irrefutable certainty that all of my thoughts, suppositions, and absurd hypotheses are presumptuous and unfounded; however, when has the irrationality of one’s sentiments ever dissuaded one from painting the world with a selfish hue?
Truly, I wish I could return to the days of my youth and suppress my tongue and Romantic zeal, so that I may never obtrude my ghastly personage upon your beautiful soul. I wish for nothing less than to afford you the preferability of my absence.
But alas, that time has gone. Little can I do other than silently take leave, and allow the havoc I have wreaked to be sequestered into the portions of the mind that obstinately refuse ingress to ignorant reminiscence.
My apologies mean nothing to you, nor do they mean anything to me. In consequence, I find no reason to speak.
No reason to speak.
I bathed my wounds in the saltwater ocean,
And with my hands I grasped the gentle undulations of that
Serenely sweet sea.
As my tattered personage waded into the great depths,
My skin began to simmer and burn and blaze and degrade,
And my lungs became imbued with water that my touch corrupted with
I felt my breath silently purloined, and my infernally inflamed
Heart commenced its rapid pulsations that so indicated the emergence
Of a throe; presently, however, the conclusion of my anguish was
The ethereal wisps of my absconding soul
Drowned in conjunction with that weary corporeal mass.
The inexorable tide returned the fetid remnants to the shore,
And that night, a furious tempest disturbed the indignant sea.
I now understand that your mellifluous smiles were superimposed upon the melancholy flames of your soul.
Only the most obtuse would contend that her perception of me diverges from that which is ubiquitous. Yet, by virtue of some inexplicable, though hardly lamentable, propensity, she abides me with an almost unprecedented congeniality.
Her kindness is such that my heart quivers with a childish appreciation each time that it is employed; though her amiability is a transparent affectation, it nevertheless succeeds in thawing the ice in my veins.
May find your heart at dusk.
|—||Carl Sandburg, from “Dreams in the Dusk” (via litverve)|
Falls drop by drop upon the heart
Until, in our own despair, against our will,
Comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.
|—||Aeschylus (via itsquoted)|
|—||Tennessee Williams (via itsquoted)|
I fell in love with the blazing disks of Your summer eyes,
With the speed of a plane soaring Through the tender skies,
And as the world reposed—laid its Heart to rest—
Hither and thither went my love’s Tempest.
With flaming tresses reflective of Aurora’s work—
Within each solar fauna lurked—
You lit the kindling sequestered in my Eyes,
And painted my love with autumnal Dyes.