❤ UNDER CONSTRUCTION! I'm giving this blog a little makeover. You can still look around, but it will be a bit dusty! ❤
Recommendations

An e.e.cummings poem

Why is it that our favorite things are always the things that introduced us to things?

Okay, let me explain it better. I have watched most of Studio Ghibli’s movies and I like all of them, but my favorite is Ponyo (the first one I watched). I have also watched a bunch of K-dramas, but the one with the biggest place in my heart is the one that started my obsession, Boys Over Flowers. And so on with a lot of things.

So, I have a theory that our favorite things tend to be our favorites not because we consider them “the best” in their category, but because we have an emotional attachment to them. Most of the time it is nostalgia.

When it comes to poetry, the first poem I read (and therefore my favorite) was this one by e.e.cummings. I was thinking about it this morning and felt so nostalgic! I remember my little self of twelve years ago trying to memorize every line. I hope you like it too.

Also, I checked the grammar and spelling and everything in this poem is just as he wrote it. (Just making sure you don’t think I butchered it, haha).

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

e.e.cummings

Let's chat!