New poems
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Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart...? I have not one word of comfort—you deserve this. You have killed yourself... You loved me—then what right had you to leave me? What right—answer me—for the poor fancy you felt for [HIM]? Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your will, did it... Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you—oh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?
—Emily Brontë
—Emily Brontë
Tuesday, October 24, 2023
