This post all began from attending a journalism seminar at a graduate school, when a lovely man happened to sit next to me and say something kind. I always let these opportunities go. I get so flustered. I become not myself. During the seminar on longform journalism, I ended up not paying attention and finding more excitement in drawing the guest speakers. I thought I was in my personal...
i imagine your warm hands on my untouched body, my hips, my neck, the line of my jawbone. the quiet terrain of my skin had been waiting for your press. for your breathing palms to complete this rush, to rest in the solitude of this touch. — where are you? who are you? i can’t wait to meet you.
The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my...– Nikos Kazantzakis (via larmoyante)