Franz Kafka is Dead
He died in a tree from which he wouldn’t come down. ‘Come down!’ they cried to him. ‘Come down! Come down!’ Silence filled the night, and the night filled the silence, while they waited for Kafka to speak. ‘I can’t,’ he finally said, with a note of wistfulness. ‘Why?’ they cried. Stars spilled across the black sky. ‘Because then you’ll stop asking for me.’
written by Nicole Krauss, The History of Love (via larmoyante)
to a friend who went back to him
Do not cave like your grandmother’s spine did
the day she fell down the stairs for the last time.
Loneliness is just a sheep in wolves’ clothing.
You know exactly how to tame it, to let it eat out of your palm.
When he puts up his fists, remember that all palm lines start as maps
and eventually reincarnate into sorrow.
Once, his body led the way and taught you everything you knew-
now be your own teacher.
Relearn how to survive.
There will be days when the rain feels like his mouth on yours,
but know he is the thunderstorm
that once struck you down like lightning
and will no longer.
You have the courage to weather this.
Open your mouth and howl.
You are the coyote.
You, only you.
The moon will bow to you
just like he will
when you show up in his nightmares.
I’m at a party and I’m barfin’ I can barely see,
And every time I talk to you well I can never breathe,
I’m gettin’ drunker I’m a bummer I should just call her,
And don’t you know I’m really good at making this feel awkward.
all of my days are blending together into one lonely night
loneliest girl in the the world