I need courage today. Terribly. If you could parcel it up in brown paper and send it my way, that would be wonderful.
I miss Kitty, as always. But, I think I am noticing that perhaps it isn’t Kitty I am missing. It is the Kitty that was, not the Kitty that is.
There is nothing that can be done, nothing.
Unless we build that time-machine.
Unless we spend our December snowed in with steel and sparks and soldering irons and Timothy breathing on the windows. (Because he came back, he always comes back.)
Unless we build that time-machine, there is no Kitty. There is no saving Anne Frank.
The Unicorn Diaries
She loved the arts, music, paints, nature. Hans Christian Anderson, Van Gogh, Tchaikovsky. They were her favourites. She loved Tchaikovsky because he made his sadness into warmth, Sleeping Beauty, Swan Lake, The Nutcracker, Symphony No.6. She loved Vincent because she felt his loneliness in his paintings. But she couldn’t look at his sunflowers for too long, the yellows stung her eyes. Feeling too much Feeling is too much sometimes. She told me how she thought it was weird you know, that all these people who created such beautiful things were so sad. How sometimes the sadness was so strong that they ended their own lives. Their last work of art.
She said she thought that most geniuses were lonely. I said I thought everyone was lonely. That even the Moon is lonely, and that’s why it pulls on the tides.
The Unicorn Diaries (via nothingbutsilencearoundme)
… I have all these questions and nobody to ask.. but they’re only silly questions. Like, if octopuses have three hearts do they love more than we do, and do you miss Pluto, and do you want to build a castle out of teeth, and do you think sharks are sad that they don’t have any bones.
Everything will be okay.
As long as we keep our promises.
But I remember being small and thinking that promises were funny things to keep, because where do you keep them?
The Unicorn Diaries (via nothingbutsilencearoundme)