Is to be in love with blue, then, to be in love with a disturbance? Or is the love itself the disturbance? And what kind of madness is it anyway, to be in love with something constitutionally incapable of loving you back?

Are you sure—one would like to ask—that it cannot love you back?

- Maggie Nelson Bluets

“I pray one prayer, I repeat it till my tongue stiffens. Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living! You said I killed you, haunt me, then!... Be with me always, take any form, drive me mad, only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!... I cannot live without my life. I cannot live without my soul.“

“I cannot look