"Rustling among my emotions, I found nothing better than dead leaves."
Virginia Woolf, diary entry, 30 September 1926
"Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. Tell me we’ll never get used to it."
Richard Siken, from Scheherazade
"… and I want to tell you something,
come close I want to whisper it, to pour
the words burning into you, the same words for each one of you,
listen, it’s simple, I’m saying it now, while I’m still sober,
while I’m not about to weep bitterly into my own glass,
while you’re still here — don’t go yet, stay, stay,
give me your shoulder to lean against, steady me, don’t let me drop,
I’m so in love with you I can’t stand up."
Kim Addonizio, “Glass”