ʙᴏᴛᴀɴʏ ᴘᴛ. 2

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Trapeze: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin, 1947-1955

Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Nikos Kazantzakis

So, if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me because I, too, am fluent in silence. -R. Arnold

“Solitude and its silence, was the song that taught me to stand in the storms that others fled, so that I could dance in the rain they only longed for.”

— wordsintheattic

Taking notes📝

home library so I never have to leave the house 📚

Such a funny thing how one’s perception of time can be altered so differently by something so applicable and true to me. When i am in your arms the any form of time and space cease to become prevalent

Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle, Vladimir Nabokov

<3

My kink is being incredibly gentle with her, being respectful, listening to her yapping all day and helping her discover her true self while being with her.

Couldn’t be more true in my own opinion and throughout the experiences of my own life

There is a certain kind of pain in holding on too tightly—to people, to dreams, to the past. We convince ourselves that if we grip hard enough, we can stop time, prevent endings, rewrite fate. But life was never meant to be held—it was meant to be felt, like the wind slipping through our fingers, like the tide kissing the shore before retreating into the vast unknown. We mourn what leaves, forgetting that not all departures are tragedies. Some things must end so we can begin again. Some loves are only meant to teach us, not stay. And maybe that is the greatest lesson: to love without possession, to dream without demand, to live without fear of the inevitable goodbye. Because in surrender, we find peace. In letting go, we find freedom. And maybe, just maybe, the things meant for us will find their way back home—not because we held on, but because we finally let them breathe on their own.

Where my soul, mind, and heart live in ungrateful complacency. The storms and strangers that have stayed with, taken refuge, and looked to it for guidance. It seems to continue to bear it all so far. The eroded exposed stone, walls and wooden ceilings repaired year after year. Paint washed or chipped, but always remaining a lighthouse for all. The light is small inside though. Even when that little light goes out, it only is relit by graciousness of inner strength, or more often through the words/actions of those who have enough light burning within them to share.

May I learn to not be just a lighthouse keeper, guider, or shelter. May I forever grow to be a compassionate ever learning student of the world, of others who share this same light

lighthouse study. started in sketchbook and finished in procreate