Nish P

“We can never know in the beginning, in giving ourselves to a person, to a work, to a marriage or to a cause, exactly what kind of love we are involved with. When we demand a certain specific kind of reciprocation before the revelation has flowered completely we find our selves disappointed and bereaved and in that grief may miss the particular form of love that is actually possible but that did not meet our initial and too specific expectations. Feeling bereft we take our identity as one who is disappointed in love, our almost proud disappointment preventing us from seeing the lack of reciprocation from the person or the situation as simply a difficult invitation into a deeper and as yet unrecognizable form of affection.

The act of loving itself, always becomes a path of humble apprenticeship, not only in following its difficult way and discovering its different forms of humility and beautiful abasement but strangely, through its fierce introduction to all its many astonishing and different forms, where we are asked continually and against our will, to give in so many different ways, without knowing exactly, or in what way, when or how, the mysterious gift will be returned.”
― David Whyte

“They way I walk now
you’d have a hard time recognising me,
on these streets
where I once imagined walking with you.
Hand in hand,
like we always did,
and it never mattered where we were going
because it was all just fine.
I was always fine.
But they rest restlessly in my pockets now,
in a new town,
on these new streets,
and it’s heavy to stay standing
for my body is half the size
when you’re gone
and these buildings are tall and old and beautiful
and I wonder what secrets they hold.
How to stand so proud after so many years
because I’m still young but I feel worn
and I get through the days on too much caffeine and mood altering chemicals
to stay awake long enough to make the poetry come alive.
I fall asleep on the floor with the music still playing
when my neighbour leaves for the office
and I’m jealous.
I wonder what it’s like to go outside and know where to go,
know where you want to end up
and just simply go there.
I’ve been making lists of things I want to do,
where to go
and who to be,
now that you’re gone,
and it’s nice and all,
it’s just …
I’d rather write it with you,
and go there with you.
Be things
with you.

There were days when I still put on make up
in case you’d come back,
but I wear the same clothes and shower in the rain,
eat when I can and sleep when I can,
which is rare and not often,
so if you’d see me now
on these streets
where I once imagined walking with you
you’d have a hard time recognising me.

It takes a lot to run away.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, Another Vagabond Lost To Love: Berlin Stories on Leaving & Arriving

“In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality.”
― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

“The first person you should be careful not to fool is yourself. Because you are the easiest person to fool".”
― Richard Feynman