Monday, April 11, 2016

... the one landscape that we, the inconstant ones,
Are consistently homesick for... 
The blessed will not care what angle they are regarded from,
Having nothing to hide. Dear, I know nothing of
Either, but when I try to imagine a faultless love
Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur
Of underground streams...

// WH Auden

Dreamland is making me ill. bring me to Real, the land of the living. mercy

No comments:

Post a Comment