Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring. I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine? Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks, the white statues that have neither voice nor sight. I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten your eyes. Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm. Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls. I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window. Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.” —Neruda
Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.
When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.” —A Clash of Kings - George R. R. Martin. (via littlebird-)
Spending my time immersing myself in George R. R. Martin’s novels is therapeutic. The man’s writing and imagination is like some incandescent fuel giving light to my inspiration, feeding me with amazing tales of honor, valor, glory, deceit, treachery, war, love, pride, and so much more. I feel the same as if I were reading one of Tolkien’s lost stories, another one of his unfinished tales, and that’s a high a compliment to Martin.
I’ve come to look at these fantasy fiction stories of knights and kings to be like elaborate works of art, eternal treasures in the guise of plain paper waiting to be discovered and shared.
And yet somehow all of this, like the root of all my happiness today, is due to the love I have for him. Because he was the one who handed me ‘The Hobbit’, all the love I bear for Tolkien and Martin I owe to him a thousand fold.
“Men in Numenor are half-Elves, especially the high men; they are neither the one nor the other. The long life that they were granted deceives them, and they dally in the world, children in mind, until age finds them - and then many only forsake play out of doors for play in their houses. They turn their play into great matters and great matters into play. They would be craftsmen and loremasters and heroes all at once; and women to them are but fires on the hearth - for others to tend, until they are tired of play in the evening. All things were made for their service: hills are for quarries, rivers to furnish water or to turn wheels, trees for boards, women for their body’s need, or if fair to adorn their table and hearth; and children to be teased when nothing else is to do - but they would as soon play with their hounds’ whelps. To all they are gracious and kind, merry as larks in the morning (if the sun shines); for they are never wrathful of they can avoid it. Men should be gay, they hold, generous as the rich, giving away what they do not need. Anger they show only when they become aware, suddenly, that there are other wills in the world beside their own. Then they will be as ruthless as the seawind if anything dare to withstand them.” Erendis to Ancamile. Aldarion and Erendis Unfinished Tales J.R.R. Tolkien
It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen him, and I was supposed to go out to see him this morning but instead I get a text from him at 6:48 saying ‘baby I don’t know if you should come… I don’t feel good I feel miserable’. I texted him back trying to convince him to let me come, maybe I can somehow make him feel better, and I’d honestly be perfectly content just laying beside him for hours. But I got no reply, so I’ve been laying in bed since then, unable to fall asleep but for this one stupid dream in which I was chasing this lady who stole my purse at graduation. It’s a beautiful day out and I get to waste it staying home again. I don’t even know what’s wrong with him, but he’s telling me that he’s been feeling ‘tired’ and ‘demotivated’ for a while now. I think he needs more sugar in his diet.
Rhythmic in my head