The woods are lovely, dark and deep

She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on. . . .far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day.- Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

but I have promises to keep

Only life as we have, within our hazard-given abilities, made it ourselves, life as Marx defined it-the actions of men(and of women) in pursuit of their ends.

The river of life, of mysterious laws and mysterious choice, flows past a deserted embankment; and along that other deserted embankment Charles now begins to pace, a man behind the invisible gun-carriage on which rests his own corpse. He walks towards an imminent, self-given death? I think not; for he has at last found an atom of faith in himself, a true uniqueness, on which to build; has already begun, though he would bitterly deny it, though there are tears in his eyes to support his denial, to realize that life is not a symbol, is not one riddle and one failure to guess it, is not to inhabit one face alone or to be given up after the losing throw of the dice but is to be, however inadequately, emptily, hopelessly into the city's iron heart, endured. And out again, upon the unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea.- closing paragraph of The French Lieutenant's Woman by John Fowles

...and miles to go before I sleep

I do believe it's true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
If the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you're the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
- Soul meets Body by Death cab for Cutie

A walk by the beach

A walk by the beach today, sipping our drinks, talking about everything and nothing. Slightly over 2 years ago, we were at a beach far away from here, sitting in silence, occasionally talking about turning 20..how it felt too soon, and we wondered how we would change. I don’t know how much we have changed, maybe we are less self-conscious, less hesitant, more rational. Maybe we are the same two girls running to the oceanside in the early hours of the mornings in our ghastly pink jackets to catch the sunrise, feeling so removed from reality, living in the moment. I don’t know. Today you said you do feel 22, and that realization is tinged with sadness and relief. A part of you wanting to go back and do it all over again, another part of you never wanting to step back into those tumultuous years again. Guess we are slowly learning to embrace our age.
As for change, I think we are always changing, through circumstance or choice, but the core of us remains more or less unchanged. At least that is what I think for now. I can say with much certainty that I’m no longer an introspective and idealistic teen. No, I’ve grown…I’m now an introspective and idealistic 22 year old. Looking back at my early journal entries, I can recognize my own voice in my questioning tone, tendency to overanalyze the most insignificant of things and in my musings about life. Yet, I’ve changed so much since then, in other ways. And I wonder about the changes the future will bring. Wonder what we’ll say about change when we are sixty, watching the sun rise over the horizon by the beach, sipping our drinks... talking about everything and nothing.

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells,
constellations.- Anais Nin

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad. - By Christina Rossetti

At the start of a lit class at uni 3 years ago, our teacher read this out to us, and we started sharing what this poem reminds us of...old friends, family, places. Was a good day..a rainy thursday morning. Now this poem reminds me of them , that day. And I wonder whether they remember to.

In these moments

Remember when time seem stilled just for us
Our senses alive and the world went quiet
I looked across and got lost in your eyes
With your words, I traveled through your life
And in these moments I knew you
Not the person I met, and not the person I’ll leave
But the person who bruised his chin when he was 5
Who stared out of his window, studying the stars
Giving them names and stories and even a past

Between the lines of what you said
And in the occasional flicker of your eyes
I got to know the mind behind that half smile
And how you seem so cynical yet sweet
Detesting all but finding wonder in the smallest things
Loving so much, yet the emptiness it sometimes brings
And in these moments I knew you
With the words you never said, with the hurt you rarely show
Struggling with your philosophies, searching for more
Watching you capture the sky then let it go
You were a dreamer so high and a realist below

Time did still for us, but not for long,
Brought back to earth with a violent jolt
As you walked away, I thought if only you knew
But you’ll disagree
That in these moments I knew you
Knew the thoughts which inspire your wry smile
In the lilted voice you spoke, and I, taken in
Can almost see the person you used to be
Behind a one-way glass, and I stole a peak
How I almost feel what was left unsaid
Can almost see the many years passed in a dark haze
And we were all fumbling through, waiting for
A small ray of light on the other side

Looking back, a final glance at where we sat
Unfinished coffee and cookie crumbs
Nothing else remains
But the memories, these little scraps of memories
Of a time that ended too quickly
Frozen, like little snowdrops of moments,
And in these moments I knew you
Everything you were, everything you could be
In these moments I knew it all
In these moments, nothing else

Poetry by Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind. -By Pablo Neruda