“…But for you, my love, I am more delicate…”

endless kinnporsche caps ➝ (1/?)

“I think of love as being at the edges of consciousness, a kind of unsourced resonance that, once there, ends up being gathered, as a rain storm, in mind as dream, as pleasure, as delightful. But like a dream, it can be fuzzy and easily forgotten once one awakens from sleep. One has to have a sense for it, has to be open to it still lingering after the moment of being awakened. You have to trace what happened in the dream by the mood it leaves with you, by the mood that remains, and mood becomes the occasion for movement and withdrawal into the thought of the dream.”

“…unharmed by the fading of our senses, immune to all change, immune in the most unthinkably far regions of ourselves, of our hearts, of our souls, perception lived on, imperceptible, unevocable, unexplorable, unrecognizable to itself, and it sought the counter-perception in the other soul, in the other heart, in the invisible depths of the other,”