Why do we assume birds are singing? Maybe we’ve taken their agony for beauty. Maybe those lovely notes are cries of pain. All their screams mistaken for songs, anguish mistaken for joy. And all the birds are mourning birds. And all the birds are weeping. And none of us know the difference.
I’ve heard it said the great blue heron is a sign of good luck As if she didn’t earn every moment of stillness through a lifetime of practice As if her entire existence is not a choice between an impa
noun; Russian; roughly translates to “sadness” "No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without
I wrote three lines last night when I woke up choking on my terror again again again The way I wake up every night, mid scream and have for almost two weeks I wrote three lines You’d think there would