Chapter II - You, Me and Her
Susana, 20, Porto
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July 28th
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July 28th
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and the whiskey and wine entered our veins
when blood was too weak to carry on…
written by Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers At Last (via introspectivepoet)
I am better than I was.
I will be better than I am.
written by (140/365) by (DS)
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July 28th
Here’s what our parents never taught us:
You will stay up on your rooftop until sunlight peels away the husk of the moon,
chainsmoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, and
you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love with someone
who will stay up to watch the sun rise with you.
You will fall in love with train rides, and sooner or later you will
realize that nowhere seems like home anymore.
A woman will kiss you and you’ll think her lips are two petals
rubbing against your mouth.
You will not tell anyone that you liked it.
It’s okay.
It is beautiful to love humans in a world where love is a metaphor for lust.
You can leave if you want, with only your skin as a carry-on.
All you need is a twenty in your pocket and a bus ticket.
All you need is someone on the other end of the map, thinking about the supple
curves of your body, to guide you to a home that stretches out for miles
and miles on end.
You will lie to everyone you love.
They will love you anyways.
One day you’ll wake up and realize that you are too big for your own skin.
Don’t be afraid.
Your body is a house where the shutters blow in and out
against the windowpane.
You are a hurricane-prone area.
The glass will break through often.
But it’s okay. I promise.
a stranger once told you that the breeze
here is something worth writing poems about.
written by ‘Here’s what our parents never taught us’, Shinji Moon (via ggoya)
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Nénette and Boni // dir. Claire Denis
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For me, work is a form of therapy. It helps me sleep better at night. I think work protects us from what might be a psychodrama.