Demon and The Dove
The psychotherapist has a sad dove dying in his eye. He looks at the light like wood holding fire in it reflected in small caves and tells me there is a window where love weeps over what it cannot know. The dove’s trembling, flickering like a sun alone in the dark nest of his face, and the psychotherapist is saying, there is nothing like losing your Self for a Demon. We walk in to...
And I marveled then that the simplest, most self-evident thoughts should come so...– Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
I came as a stranger; as a stranger now I leave. The flowers of May once welcomed me warmly; a young girl spoke of love, her mother even of marriage. Now all is bleak—the pathway covered with snow. The time of departure is not mine to choose; I must find my way alone in this darkness. With the shadow of the moon at my side, I search for traces of wildlife in the white snow. Why should...
I’m not a stop along the way; I’m a destination.– Blair Waldorf