William Faulkner
We are not allowed this. We are allowed to be deeply into basketball, or Buddhism, or Star Trek, or jazz, but we are not allowed to be deeply sad. Grief is a thing that we are encouraged to “let go of,” to “move on from,” and we are told specifically how this should be done. Countless well-intentioned friends, distant family members, hospital workers, and strangers I met at parties recited the famous five stages of grief to me: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I was alarmed by how many people knew them, how deeply this single definition of the grieving process had permeated our cultural consciousness. Not only was I supposed to feel these five things, I was meant to feel them in that order and for a prescribed amount of time.
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| — | Cheryl Strayed (via violentwavesofemotion) |
That summer I caught a butterfly
and devoured bowls of melons
but out of all those lies
“I love you” was most delicious.
and devoured bowls of melons
but out of all those lies
“I love you” was most delicious.
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| — | Ocean Vuong, excerpt from “Summer Romance” (via pigmenting) |
Along the way accidents happen, detours get taken—the accidents turn out to be some of the best things.
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| — | John Irving (via theparisreview) |
Do not ignore it. Fuck it. Cry your heart out. Then fuck it some more.
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| — | Charles Bukowski, from Selected Letters Vol. 4 (via violentwavesofemotion) |




