Claudia

“We seem to take it in ten-year turns to be
defined by it, sizeable chunks of cracking
on, then great sink-holes of melancholy.”
― Max Porter, Grief Is the Thing with Feathers

“I remember her pretending to like watching award winning ceremonies more than she actually did because it surprised me, but then I let her know that such-and-such ceremony was on and we would have to sit through it. Le's go to bed, she said. We don't really know who any of these people are.

Winners, I said. Every stinking ugly vacuous cunt-faced last one of them.

And off we went to bed.”
― Max Porter, Grief Is the Thing with Feathers

“Who can a monster blame for being red?”
― Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

“Your feet were burning so I put my hands on them, but my hands
were burning too.
You had a bottle of pills but I wouldn’t let you swallow them.
You said Will you love me even more when I'm dead?
and I said No, and I threw the pills on the sand.
Look at them, you said. They look like emeralds.”
― Richard Siken Crush