His face like a full moon With a gazelle’s eyes The body of a boy; And the coquetry of a girl In public, a man; In private, a woman Exciting me with his curls And ringlets Above a smooth cheek Lighting up the gloom.
“I am not the first person you loved. You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers. We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife. We have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin. Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night. Our love came when we’d given up on asking love to come. I think that has to be part of its miracle. This is how we heal. I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book. I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin. I will write novels to the scar of your nose. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way it feels to have finally, finally found you.
And I will not be afraid of your scars.
I know sometimes it’s still hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection, but please know: whether it’s the days you burn more brilliant than the sun or the nights you collapse into my lap your body broken into a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I will love you when you are a still day. I will love you when you are a hurricane.”
God I want you in some primal, wild way animals want each other. Untamed and full of teeth. God I want you, In some chaste, Victorian way. A glimpse of your ankle just kills me.”
У меня какой-то странный период, куда не гляну все хочется убрать, продать, раздать... слишком много у меня накопилось ненужных вещей. Но вот кому, например, втюхать новые туфли 34 размера не представляю. Вот так все у меня и лежит в коробках на лучшие времена Даже на кукол смотрю и ловлю себя на мысли половину надо продать. Я в последнее время только Королеву и Ридстрома в руках держу, все остальные пылятся на полках и желания что-то с ними делать нету. Из-за этого кризиса мне хочется просто начать все с нуля, а не тянуть багаж старых вещей за собой...
We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think. This is the problem I want to have.
La Cruauté possède un Cœur Humain, Et la Jalousie, un Visage Humain, La Terreur, la Forme Humaine du Divin, Et le Secret, le Vêtement Humain.
Le Vêtement Humain est un Métal forgé, La Forme Humaine, une Forge embrasée, Le Visage Humain, une Fournaise scellée, Le Cœur Humain, sa Gorge affamée.