Françoise Hardy’s Tous les garçons et les filles playing on my record player
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“Lips of honey, eyes of fire.”— Meleager, tr. by Peter Whigham, from Greek Anthology; “Epigrams,”
melancholically beautiful things:
- empty perfume bottles
- abandoned castles
- pressed flowers
- old books with dust all over them
- walking all alone in a museum hall
- languages that humanity no longer uses
- stars, the moon, the entire universe and its secrets
“We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot.“
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Adrienne Rich, from Poetry & Prose: Poems, Prose, Reviews and Criticism; “The Knight,” (x)
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“You’re always here, always there but never near enough to feel you close.”
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