Tag Archives: unrequited love

Romantic New York Love Video

Hannah Hart Beat

Happy Friday, Hart Beat! I can’t believe I’m typing this but it’s snowing right now in New York. That’s right. We went from having consecutive days of 60 degree glorious days to now being downed in a flurry of snow. Blah. To make it up to you I thought I would share the most heartwarming video that I found browseing ye old internet. Have you seen this video?

The video is amazing, right? I’ve fallen in love in New York and can say that the emotions the video evokes are pretty on point. I love the shots of the subway and Highline especially. The video reminds me of a similar feeling series that I posed on the blog a few years back. You can read the Yelp love story in this post here.

Thanks, Condé Nast for bringing some warm and fuzzies my way this wintery night. Does this video remind you of anything, Hart Beat?

Love In the Time of Now

“‘Take advantage of it now, while you are young, and suffer all you can,’ she said to him, ‘because these things don’t last your whole life.'” 
– Gabriel García Márquez

Hi Hart Beat. I was thinking of waiting to write to you until I finished the book that I’m reading but I’m so in love that can’t help but write to you now. I started reading Love In the Time of Cholera a couple days ago and I can’t put it down to the point that I’ve been walking and reading at the same time during my connection between the G train and the E. I’ve been meaning to read Gabriel García Márquez’s classic for so long and I’m glad I finally waited until now to read it. I love reading about the horridness and passion of true love. It kills me that these two don’t follow their instincts and yet I still love to read the suffering. True love, right?

“As he passed the sewing room, he saw through the window an older woman and a young girl sitting very close together on two chairs and following the reading in the book that the woman held open in her lap. It seemed a strange sight; the daughter teaching the mother to read… The lesson was not interrupted, but the girl raised her eyes to see who was passing by he window, and that casual glance was the beginning of a cataclysm of love that still had not ended half a century later.”
– Gabriel García Márquez
“But his examination revealed that he had no fever, no pain anywhere, and that his only concrete feeling was an urgent desire to die. All that was needed was a shrewd questioning, first of the patient and then of his mother, to conclude once again that the symptoms of love were the same as those of cholera.”
– Gabriel García Márquez
I thought that maybe for this book I would put in some installments as I read further. Not only is it a perfectly appropriate Hart Beat book but I can’t but help bookmarking every breath-stopping, heart-pounding quote that I find. I want to share them all with you, Hart Beat. 

Love In the Time of Now

“‘Take advantage of it now, while you are young, and suffer all you can,’ she said to him, ‘because these things don’t last your whole life.'” 
– Gabriel García Márquez

Hi Hart Beat. I was thinking of waiting to write to you until I finished the book that I’m reading but I’m so in love that can’t help but write to you now. I started reading Love In the Time of Cholera a couple days ago and I can’t put it down to the point that I’ve been walking and reading at the same time during my connection between the G train and the E. I’ve been meaning to read Gabriel García Márquez’s classic for so long and I’m glad I finally waited until now to read it. I love reading about the horridness and passion of true love. It kills me that these two don’t follow their instincts and yet I still love to read the suffering. True love, right?

“As he passed the sewing room, he saw through the window an older woman and a young girl sitting very close together on two chairs and following the reading in the book that the woman held open in her lap. It seemed a strange sight; the daughter teaching the mother to read… The lesson was not interrupted, but the girl raised her eyes to see who was passing by he window, and that casual glance was the beginning of a cataclysm of love that still had not ended half a century later.”
– Gabriel García Márquez
“But his examination revealed that he had no fever, no pain anywhere, and that his only concrete feeling was an urgent desire to die. All that was needed was a shrewd questioning, first of the patient and then of his mother, to conclude once again that the symptoms of love were the same as those of cholera.”
– Gabriel García Márquez
I thought that maybe for this book I would put in some installments as I read further. Not only is it a perfectly appropriate Hart Beat book but I can’t but help bookmarking every breath-stopping, heart-pounding quote that I find. I want to share them all with you, Hart Beat. 

Summer in the city

Hi Hart Beat. Happy summer solstice! I can’t believe it’s already here. Summer solstice this year is reminding me of so many things from last year at this time. The only thing that’s keeping me centered is the idea that I’ll be in Madrid in nine days.

I rediscovered this Regina Spektor song the other day and I thought you might like to hear it. I’ve been putting together a playlist for the ride over the atlantic and this is on it. You have any recommendations, Hart Beat?

And don’t get me wrong, dear,
in general I’m doing quite fine
It’s just when it’s summer in the city,
and you’re so long gone from the city
I start to miss you, baby, sometimes
“Summer In the City” by Regina Spektor

Summer in the city

Hi Hart Beat. Happy summer solstice! I can’t believe it’s already here. Summer solstice this year is reminding me of so many things from last year at this time. The only thing that’s keeping me centered is the idea that I’ll be in Madrid in nine days.

I rediscovered this Regina Spektor song the other day and I thought you might like to hear it. I’ve been putting together a playlist for the ride over the atlantic and this is on it. You have any recommendations, Hart Beat?

And don’t get me wrong, dear,
in general I’m doing quite fine
It’s just when it’s summer in the city,
and you’re so long gone from the city
I start to miss you, baby, sometimes
“Summer In the City” by Regina Spektor

Anais, I only thought I loved you before

Hi. I don’t have much to say other than you should really read this letter written by Henry Miller to Anaïs Nin. It’s pretty long but, I promise it’s worth every word. It literally breathes love in the purist sense.

August 14, 1932

Anais:

Don’t expect me to be sane anymore. Don’t let’s be sensible. It was a marriage at Louveciennes– you can’t dispute it. I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous. Everything I do and say and think relates back to the marriage. I saw you as the mistress of your home, a Moor with a heavy face, a negress with a white body, eyes all over your skin, woman, woman, woman. I can’t see how I can go on living away from you– these intermissions are death. How did it seem to you when Hugo came back? Was I still there? I can’t picture you moving about with him as you did with me. I was almost terrified by it. You are not just thirty years old– you are a thousand years old.

Here I am back and still smouldering with passion, like wine smoking. Not a passion any longer for flesh, but a complete hunger for you, a devouring hunger. I read the paper about suicides and murders and I understand it all thoroughly. I feel murderous, suicidal. I feel somehow that it is a disgrace to do nothing, to just bide one’s time to take it philosophically, to be sensible. Where has gone the time when men fought, killed, died for a glove, a glance, etc? (A victrola is playing that terrible aria from Madam Butterfly— “Some day he’ll come!”)

I still hear you singing in the kitchen– a sort of inharmonic, monotonous Cuban wail. I know you’re happy in the kitchen and the meal you’re cooking is the best meal we ever ate together. I know you would scald yourself and not complain. I feel the greatest peace and joy sitting in the dining room listening to you rustling about, your dress like the goddess Indra studded with a thousand eyes. 

Anais, I only thought I loved you before; it was nothing like this certainty that’s in me now. Was all this so wonderful only because it was brief and stolen? Were we acting for each other, to each other? Was I less I, or more I, and you less or more you? Is it madness to believe that this could go on? When and where would the drab moments begin? I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don’t find them– not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever! (Now they’re singing “Heaven and Ocean” from La GiocondaI.)

I picture you playing the records over and over– Hugo’s records. “Parlez moi d amour.” The double life, double taste, double joy and misery. How you must be furrowed and ploughed by it. I know all that, but I can’t do anything to prevent it. I wish indeed it were me who had come to endure it. I know now your eyes are wide open. Certain things you will never believe anymore, certain gestures you will never repeat, certain sorrows, misgivings, you will never again experience. A kind of white criminal fervor in your tenderness and cruelty. Neither remorse nor vengeance, neither sorrow not guilt. A living it out, with nothing to save you from the abysm but a high hope, a faith, a joy that you tasted, that you can repeat when you will.

All morning I was at my note, ferreting through my life records, wondering where to begin, how to make a start, seeing not just another book before me but a life of books. But I don’t begin. The walls are completely bare– I have taken everything down before going to meet you. It is as though I had made ready to leave for good. The spots on the walls stand out– where our heads rested. While it thunders and lightnings I lie on the bed and go through wild dreams. We’re in Seville and then in Fez and then in Capri and then in Havana. We’re journeying constantly, but there is always a machine and books, and your body is always close to me and the look in your eyes never changes. People are saying we will be miserable, we will regret, but we are happy, we are laughing always, we are singing. We are talking Spanish and French and Arabic and Turkish. We are admitted everywhere and the strew our path with flowers. 

I say this is a wild dream– but it is a dream I want to realize. Life and literature combined, love the dynamo, you with your chameleon’s soul giving me a thousand loves, being anchored always in no matter what storm, home wherever we are. In the mornings, continuing where we left off. Resurrection after resurrection. You asserting yourself, getting the rich varied life you desire; and the more you assert yourself the more you want me, need me. Your voice getting hoarser, deeper, your eyes blacker, your blood thicker, your body fuller. A voluptuous servility and delight of experience.

HVM

There. I’m devastated that it’s over and I have to stop typing Henry Millers beautiful and true words. I’m actually heartbroken it’s over. Maybe someday I’ll write a letter like this. Have a nice night, Hart Beat.

This letter, like the many posted here before it, comes from my favorite website “Letters of Note.”

Parts of me remind me of you

Hi Hart Beat. A couple of days ago I posted this song by Sky Ferreira and tonight I want to share another one with you. The two are extremely different but I can’t figure out which one I love more. I guess that’s a good problem, right Hart Beat?
When I got into my car and drove away,
I listened to the stereo play
I live by my own laws,
I stick to my guns and hold my head up to midnight sun
“Sad Dream” by Sky Ferreira

Lana and Gatsby

Hi. How’s your Monday night going, Hart Beat? I hope you’re having a relaxing night. H and I got to check out Brouwerij Lane down the street from our apartment. I’ve been wanting to go there for a while and if you’re ever in Greenpoint Hart Beat, you should check it out.

Recently, I’ve been immersed in too many good books that I’ve had a hard time re-reading The Great Gatsby in preparation for the new movie. Luckily I found a really good audio version on Spotify to listen to while on the train. If you, like me, have been meaning to read the book before seeing the movie, this is a great way to get it done.

What do you think, Hart Beat? Are you going to see the movie? I’ve heard so many people with such strong feelings about the new recreation of Gatsby and Co. that it’s hard to go into the movie without any preconceptions. I do have to say though, the music that’s been pre-released is pretty good. And our girl Lana Del Rey has a very prominent song featured. So, maybe we can skip all the Buchanan nonsense and just listen to the song for now.

“Young and Beautiful” by Lana Del Rey

To the you of ten years ago, now

Hey Hart Beat. I’m just off for my run but I wanted to share this poem with you before I left for the night. I read it in last week’s New Yorker and I feel in love as soon as I read it. I’ve actually been carrying around the magazine all week so I can read it on the train. Also, if you want another poem about lost love, listen to this. I love both of these poems so much and I hope you do too, Hart Beat.


To the You of Ten Years Ago, Now

by Dora Malech

Never fear. I know the difference between
arteries and ardor, arbor and treed,
my bower and a weak-kneed need, a harbor
where one might moor tonight and a port worth
the oars’ effort to come ashore for, a bit
part and the serpent’s gravid apple. I won’t
flatter myself first or lasting, or 
presume to fast and fein a martyr, making
mockery of sacrifice, fatten
for some sweet slaughter. I must believe that I’m 
not on your mind. On your body? Sure.
That said, your body has a few ideas
so bright that we might meet some night and render
a dark room light as the last day before
the world ends, that doom that was supposed to dawn
today, but by now, hours worn on and in,
we know there’s no such luxury as fine
as that finality for now. For now, 
at least, I’ll have to kiss apocalypse 
goodbye, resign myself to this more mundane
pain, the solace of the solstice, year’s
earliest sunset and its longest night.
I try to catch that fade of color with,
without a flash. Both tries prove terrible.
The horizon smudges up against the sky’s blue
like a child’s heavy-handed landscape
and inept erasure. They’ll have to do.
The pictures that I have of you will never
do you justice, either, neither a camera’s 
snap nor some synaptic crackle long
elapsed can come remotely close to holding
you. How else would you have it? You need
never fear. I need you, but I only need you
where you are: there, never far, never near. 

Dear Juliet,

While I was at work today I got an amazing email from my amazing friend S. She sent me this NPR piece about something really amazing. Listen here

Apparently in Verona, Italy there is a club of women who read letters written to Juliet and personally hand write a response to each letter. I am in awe. The love story of Romeo and Juliet is a personal favorite of mine (unrequited love really in any form is my favorite) and the idea that in Juliet’s hypothetical hometown there are woman who read and answer letters written by lovers from all over the world is truly unbelievable.
“Juliet, you are the only one who can understand how I feel.”
In honor of the Secretaries of Juliet, here’s one of my favorite songs about the star crossed lovers. The Killers just sing this one so well. Juliet, when you gonna realize, it was just that the time was wrong? Madre mia. 
“Romeo and Juliet” sung by The Killers
Verona in real life.