“I am tired of tears and laughter, and men that laugh and weep, of what may come hereafter, for men that sow to reap. I am weary of days and hours, blown buds of barren flowers, desires and dreams and powers, and everything but sleep.” – Algernon Charles Swinburne
I can see it so clearly, the villain monk’s final moments, even though I’ve not watched the movie in years.
It’s said often enough to be a cliché, but I truly don’t believe in coincidences.
Pain has an element of blank, Emily Dickinson said.
I wonder sometimes if I’ve had a single incarnation in which I was emotionally strong from the beginning, or if it’s always something I have to fight for until my metaphorical hands are bloody.
You could have drawn a line dividing up my childhood at around my eleventh year.
There is a story I once learned, one that I told myself again and again, but with so many tales filling the world, it got pushed out of my head.
I like to think some part of me, the immortal part of me that feels and remembers beyond what the flesh is capable of, sees to the end of all things.
Cut from The Happiness to Sleep for length purposes.
I remember often the golden childhoods of this life and the last. Continue reading “Souvent Me Souviens”