Henry Crawford to Fanny with love

I am happier than I was, because I now understand more clearly your opinion of me.  You think me unsteady—easily swayed by the whim of the moment—easily tempted—easily put aside.  With such an opinion, no wonder that—But we shall see.—It is not by protestations that I shall endeavor to convince you I am wronged, it is not by telling you that my affections are steady.  My conduct shall speak for me—absence, distance, time shall speak for me.—They shall prove, that as far as you can be deserved by any body, I do deserve you.—You are infinitely superior in merit; all that I know.—You have qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature.  You have some touches of the angel in you, beyond what—not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees any thing like it—but beyond what one fancies might be.  But still I am not frightened.  It is not by equality of merit that you can be won.  That is out of the question.  It is he who sees and worships your merit the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return.  There I build my confidence.  By that right I do and will deserve you; and when once convinced that my attachment is what I declare it, I know you too well ot to entertain the warmest hopes—Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny—Nay—(seeing her draw back displeased) forgive me.  Perhaps I have as yet no right—but by what other name can I call you?  Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under any other?  No, it is ‘Fanny’ that I think of all day, and dream of all night.—You have given the name such reality of sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptive of you.

I have never seen a wild thing feel sorry for itself. A little bird will fall dead, frozen from a bough, without ever having felt sorry for itself.--D. H. Lawrence

She never lets me in
only tells me where she's been
when she's had too much to drink
I say that I don't care, I just run my hands
through her dark hair then I pray to God
you gotta help me fly away

sometimes awful things have their own kind of beauty

-a single man-

The Awakening

     Edna walked away on down to the beach rather mechanically, not noticing anything special except that the sun was hot. She was not dwelling upon any particular train of thought. She had done all the thinking which was necessary after Robert went away, when she lay awake upon the sofa till morning.
     She had said over and over to herself: "To-day it is Arobin; to-morrow it will be some one else. It makes no difference to me, it doesn't matter about Leonce Pontellier--but Raoul and Etienne!" She understood now clearly what she had meant long ago when she said to Adele Ratignolle that she would give up the unessential, but she would never sacrifice herself for her children.
     Despondency had come upon her there in the wakeful night, and had never lifted.  There was no one thing in the world that she desired. There was no human being whom she wanted near her except Robert; and she even realized that the day would come when he, too, and the thought of him would melt out of her existence, leaving her alone. The children appeared before her like antagonists who had overcome her; who had overpowered and sought to drag into the soul's slavery for the rest of her days. But she knew a way to elude them. She was not thinking of these things when she walked down to the beach.
     The water of the Gulf stretched out before her, gleaming with the million lights of the sun. The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude. All along the white beach, up and down, there was no living thing in sight. A bird with a broken wing was beating the air above, reeling, fluttering, circling disabled down, down to the water.
     Edna had found her old bathing suit still hanging, faded, upon its accustomed peg.
     She put it on, leaving her clothing in the bath-house. But when she was there beside the sea, absolutely alone, she cast the unpleasant, pricking garments form her, and for the first time in her life she stood naked in the open air, at the mercy of the sun, the breeze that beat upon her, and the waves that invited her.
     How strange and awful it seemed to stand naked under the sky! how delicious ! She felt like some new-born creature, opening its eyes in a familiar world that it had never known.
     The foamy wavelets curled up to her white feet, and coiled like serpents about her ankles. She walked out. The water was chill, but she walked on. The water was deep, but she lifted her white body and reached out with a long, sweeping stroke. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
     She went on and on. She remembered the night she swam far out, and recalled the terror that seized her at the fear of being unable to regain the shore. She did not look back now, but went on and on, thinking of the blue-grass meadow that she had traversed when a little child, believing that it had no beginning and no end.
     Her arms and legs were growing tired.
     She thought of Leonce and the children. They were a part of her life. But they need not have thought that they could possess her, body and soul. How Mademoiselle Reisz would have laughed, perhaps sneered, if she knew! "And you call yourself an artist! What pretensions, Madame! The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies."
     Exhaustion was pressing upon and overpowering her.
     "Good-by--because, I love you." He did not know; he did not understand. He would never understand. Perhaps Doctor Mandelet would have understood if she had seen him--but it was too late; the shore was far behind her, and her strength was gone.
     She looked into the distance, and the old terror flamed up for an instant, then sank again. Edna heard her father's voice and her sister Margaret's. She heard the barking of an old dog that was chained to the sycamore tree. The spurs of the cavalry officer clanged as he walked across the porch. There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.

--Kate Chopin--

I feel my skin drip off of me with every step until there is nothing left but bare bones. My skeleton shivers and trudges on.

Murder of One

I dreamt I saw you walking up a hillside in the snow Casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there counting crows One for sorrow Two for joy Three for girls and four for boys Five for silver Six for gold and Seven for a secret never to be told There's a bird that nests inside you Sleeping underneath your skin When you open up your wings to speak I wish you'd let me in All your life is such a shame All your love is just a dream Open up your eyes You can see the flames of your wasted life You should be ashamed