moonchild



iperbole:

Le tre età della donna (particolare), Gustav Klimt
La madre morta, Egon Schiele


RHS Chelsea Flower show, Rebecca Louise Law, 2013.

RHS Chelsea Flower show, Rebecca Louise Law, 2013.

(Source: crepusculeinterieur)

(less like a fever, more like a bruise)


Jenny Holzer, Living Series

Jenny Holzer, Living Series

i am loose and lovely and sick and stones and tired tired tired with whatever it is if i call it love it has to stack up next to all the rest and i can’t, i can’t place this great big nothingness in the room and say here, this is it, this is my love, this well-dressed black hole, how clever we both are, what precious memories we share, how blankly people stare when i’m trying to explain, i just do, it isn’t a choice, don’t you know, you clever people, haven’t you loved someone you didn’t choose, haven’t you chosen wrong, haven’t you wanted to exchange your love for someone else’s, someone’s beautiful love, someone’s full love, real love, whole love, someone’s love that can fit inside a room, a country, a universe, that doesn’t spill out of you, that doesn’t stain your sheets and your skin and your floors and the street, that doesn’t twist itself around you, make it impossible to sleep, haven’t you ever loved someone so much you wish you could be dead instead, but no that’s too easy, that’s not a wish it’s a worry, have you ever hoped for a room with no one else in it, like rapunzel, or maybe more like hell, just you and me until someday i learn how to say it, spell it, how to put it on a page and keep you there, so i can leave, i have so much to do, i have so much to say that isn’t i love you, but i do, i do, and how strange it is that you can feel so little when i look at you, like there are no wires running between our brains, no string that tugs on you when i look away, it’s just me, this machine made for missing you, even just across the room, i have so much to say but it’s all it’s all it’s all for you.