Tim Huijts
@timhuijts.bsky.social
Posting about books, photos, nature, mental health, some music and some science - photos mine
Public Health
29%
Medicine
19%
Memories of words that still live, unseen, unheard, but breathing, humming, in fingers, on lips
Entangled in your absence, each day is a petal we didn't slip between pages, each star-thorned night a thigh unkindled by nails; but in this embrace of words, we still feel, you and I.
'We find beauty not in the thing itself but in the patterns of shadows, the light and the darkness, that one thing against another creates.'
-Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows
-Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows
'If you believe in the shadow, you cannot help believing in the light.'
-Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, Cogwheels
-Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, Cogwheels
'Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.'
-Rainer Maria Rilke
and make big shadows I can move in.'
-Rainer Maria Rilke
'Our love of each other was like two long shadows kissing without hope of reality.'
-Anaïs Nin
-Anaïs Nin
'Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living.'
-Anaïs Nin
-Anaïs Nin
Tell me, always; each of your words a touch, leaving your fingerprints on my lips as I read them; you are here, felt to my toes, held in my chest, seen night and day, rippling each breath with your name.
'Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real and substantial.'
-Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
-Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
Still I see you there, in your grandmother's room; the quiet of her clock-ticking heartchamber, words nestling in your tea-drowsed eyes; your grandfather carrying winter dusk fire in his clothes, in his embering smile; and outside, a white horse, its blue shadow lengthening, painting your dreams.
The night, the dawn almost mute now, names still muttered to the amber light, but unheard; tasting the honey that I can no longer speak, rough edges forced soft, being barred from you, only dreaming the words your flame used to spell out.
'....deep with quivering shades of red and opal colour as the petals overlap each other and melt swiftly to the heart of the naked fire within.'
-Virginia Woolf, The Life of Violet
-Virginia Woolf, The Life of Violet
'Further, you will imagine a mouth, which like flame again for my figure declares its need of ashes, curls and flickers and bursts here and there into a true rose of heat, ...' (1/2)
-Virginia Woolf, The Life of Violet
-Virginia Woolf, The Life of Violet
A whispered brush of my thumb - yes, the same conclusion, again and again, always
We read and then we love, always, the moontide tugging at me, swallowing me, until I surface, come back, gasping for breath, dissolved; and always, the moon-silent sky, paper-blank with darkness, begs me to shower it in stars, for want of light; always, and never, enough.
Our words are spiegel im spiegel: I read you, and see me, through you; in endless mirrors you write me - and so I write, and keep writing, to see you through my words; to thumb your image, your being, to bloom, like flowering tea in the water-hot glass of my screen.