Christi Darling

You can’t help what you feel, Moira once said, but you can help how you behave.

Maybe none of this is about control. Maybe it isn’t really about who can own whom, who can do what to whom and get away with it, even as far as death. Maybe it isn’t about who can sit and who has to kneel or stand or lie down, legs spread open. Maybe it’s about who can do what to whom and be forgiven for it. Never tell me it amounts to the same thi

But remember that forgiveness too is a power. To beg for it is a power, and to withhold or bestow it is a power, perhaps the greatest.

nobody dies from lack of sex. It’s lack of love we die from.

We lived in the gaps between the stories.

Oft have I dream’d of Thee, whose glorious name Who knows not, knows not man’s divinest lore; And now I view thee, ’tis, alas! with shame That I in feeblest accents must adore. When I recount thy worshippers of yore I tremble, and can only bend the knee; Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy In silent joy t

Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great? Or must thou trust Tradition’s simple tongue, When Flattery sleeps with thee and History does thee wrong?

Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, And turn’d a nation’s shallow joy to gloom.

For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear.