sunday night.

sunday evening.

sunday afternoon.

jazz hands! ... again.

just the feeling like you're gonna die.

I should be working, but this is SO good.

a noah baumbach kind of night.

you can't resist.

hold out.

jazz hands!

nostalgic.

And so my heartaches kept growing and growing, and I saw myself going more and more to pieces - and everyone else would have seen it, too, if I hadn’t been so miserable that no one even looked at me anymore! and still more and more I craved his affection… His kisses and his friendly arms around me were just like heaven— a dark heaven, that I could go into, and where I wanted only to be left - poor, deaf, dumb, and blind. Already, I was getting to depend on it. And I used to imagine that we were two happy children free to wander in a Paradise of sadness. We were in absolute harmony. Deeply moved, we labored side by side. But then, after a piercing embrace, he would say : “How funny it will all seem, all you’ve gone through, when I’m not here anymore. When you no longer feel my arms around your shoulders, nor my heart beneath you, nor this mouth on your eyes. Because I will have to go away someday, far away. Besides, I’ve got to help out others too: that’s what I’m here for. although I won’t really like it… dear heart…” And in that instant I could feel myself, with him gone, dizzy with fear, sinking down into the most horrible blackness: into death. I made him promise that he would never leave me. And he promised, twenty times; promised like a lover. It was as meaningless as my saying to him: “I understand you.Arthur Rimbaud (Délires I: Vierge folle - L’Époux infernal) (via larrydimick) (via FYE)