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it’s been too long since we met. you are dripping wet from another world
i don’t know where to start
wringing you dry

in a sunny courtyard, a golden pitter-patter of sparrows
[ . . . ]
an ancestral temple where i hear stars in dialogue

a child can go downhill and wash twilight years

to love you, i learn tenderness, slow-boil sweet words
no matter what, i want to hug you, to leap and kiss you

an afternoon when a tangerine is forgotten on a branch
this is a woman’s afternoon: she stands on a rooftop
watches an afternoon float and shimmer

we do not know to whom we should shout, slow down and wait for me. no one is waiting. no one waits for our unease and doubts to be appeased. as i write, i feel i have said too much. rain continues outside, pouring hard on the windowpanes. loudspeakers nearby are playing a birthday song. i feel blessed nevertheless: a vaguely sad bliss.

my body too contains a train

but i never show off. this has nothing to do with secrets
even a hundred full moons won’t move me. i stifle
the moon whistles
but someone boards the train, another alights, someone throws a fruit peel
and napkin out the window. someone says this is because of spring
it doesn’t plan to stop, but passes
a small plain where dew stares in a breeze.

but you are—
coldly watching a dog die you are
calmly facing the setting sun you are

weary of chaotic worldly affairs, you stick a pen into years of feuds and walk south. i now have doppelgängers: one watches you float in a dream. one floats with you in a dream within a dream. another presses down the drift patiently.

i dream of 8000 miles of snow: from your province to mine, from my embroidered cloth to your inn. a discarded mine buried deep, a dark river sinks into oblivion. horse bones rise in a wild grassland. the sky, a vast hollow. you subdue whiteness in your body with 3 bowls of liquor.

in other words, i wanted an imaginary world to break through the preexisting imagined world. i wanted to suffer to death. i wanted to destroy and be doomed forever. fate had lowered me into a boundless swamp, and my resistance was no more than a joke in god’s eyes that had to happen nonetheless.

i am a daughter, i have never taken econ101, i want to talk to my dad abt politics at the dinner table, literally who else could this book be for

everywhere dew glistens,
a small, barefooted child
walks into the morning light,
his face fresh as a flower,
he sings a soft, low whispering song,
he holds a bamboo pole in one hand,
he lifts his delicate head,
his bright shimmering eyes
search for the cicada
calling through luxuriant foliage,
in his other hand he totes
a string of green objects
—ants, a golden beetle, dragonflies
…
all this
i remember.

—and from the
highest tips of tossing flame
send sparks floating down,
like swarming immortals,
into the incalculably dark
and freezing hollows—illuminate
the dim and hazy dreams
of sleeping souls, so they, for once,
join your ecstatic dance—

with the season mist arrives—
steadily, rain tarries
over reaped fields…
here, plowed-up black mud
and green sprouts
from grain left over in furrows
weave a vast, dark, and undulating surface,
lingered over by that late autumn visitor,
the unfaltering rain…

please, touch me; touch me with flame!

let me sit,
and, without saying a word, face you,
and, inside an old, forgotten dream,
make a long meandering journey,
holy, immaculate in its love;
but, listen!

icb they are shaming jasmine and violet perfume but it turned me off of this book completed

shruti hassan random painting of boy

americana books are really not for me but yeah i guess i can see the appeal lol

ryan o neal…. neha….?

lord this was boring. the minerva and payne scene was the best bit lol

rita n gene

actually read “mistress for a weekend”

“and, with his baby girl in one arm and his other arm around his wife, he swept past an open-mouthed anna into the church. . .” super duper cute ending

neha sharma my harlequin queen

“what you need is to be yourself occasionally, and not all these other personalities you conjure up, depending on who it is you are having to deal with! today alone i have met the vixen, the ruthless negotiator, the loving mother, and the cynic,” he said, with tight-lipped sarcasm. “as the old saying goes, would the real woman please stand and reveal herself?” this entire thing is SO 90s loool

asin and whichever good looking greek guy. susanna is munni from bb

overall, quite cold! don’t know what it is about miss long’s writing that sucks any semblance of warmth and humor from her stories