I need you to lull this sick heart to sleep, and this soul that never knew how to find you, and this wounded flesh that still yearns for you.

You must give me serenity, and you yourself must do it, for nobody else can. I need you to flow over me like water, to quench me, flood me and leave me at rest. Just once! To be at rest in this world!

I have a great desire to sleep, even if it’s under a plot of earth, but only if the earth above me doesn’t resemble what I loved so hopelessly while I was alive, only if I stop finding in the earth this gasping I call a life.

I fear nothing so much as ceaselessly being myself. I’m afraid of knowing myself without having known you.

I feel so weary. As if I wrestled with the sea, as if the waves pummeled my body and hurled it against the rocks, and then I, in a sudden fury, grabbed it and tucked it under my arm.

My bones ache. The very blouse on my back aches. And my solitude aches, too, ever since you let me press my mouth to it and blow it into flame.  –Dulce María Loynez ‘Absolute Solitude’