davecortel

[davecortel]

& you know what it actually IS lifechanging to smile at strangers & say please & thank you & goodmorning & compliment someones outfit & help someone in need & be more accepting of loving other people just because they are other people!!!

[davecortel]

thank u Pinterest

[davecortel]

my collection

[davecortel]

[davecortel]

[davecortel]

[davecortel]

[davecortel]

Futile Devices: a journal entry.

ode to memory.

''And when you crochet

I feel mesmerized and proud

And I would say I love you, but saying it out loud

It's hard so I won't say it at all.''

The quiet struggle of not being able to voice something so profound and raw. So, as if automatically, I opt for silence.

The silence gives birth to an allegory of expansive sanctuary away from the intensity of my connections. And I always seem to crawl back to it like a pet would to its owner. Because it commands my presence and loyalty, it owns me in the most cruelly tender way. Simultaneously, it’s a safe, pristine space to quietly grieve for what once was. A mental landscape where time and space intertwine—where memories, experiences and faces are frozen in time, hazed by an almost bittersweet sepia film.

“We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured

of things faster than we should that we go

bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to

offer each time we start with someone new.”

—Mr. Perlman in Call Me By Your Name.

The ache of keeping everything close carries a chronic buzz, but I know it wouldn’t even compare to the pain of forgetting. And that’s something I’m willing to endure, to live with, as an ode to memory.

[davecortel]

she asked me if i believed in god and i told her that when i was four i almost drowned in a public pool and in my panic mistook a stranger for my father. i clawed my way up his leg. four years later he’d send my parents a picture of the scars alongside a tin of cookies. he said, “i hope she’s still okay. i carry her with me. it isn’t every day you save a life. it isn’t every day you feel like you were here for a reason. when it does happen, you have to cherish that memory. for once, i had a purpose. just being there was enough. she tore me open but she taught me a lot about love.”

[davecortel]

green's my colour.

[davecortel]

Can a man post daily about kindness, when his version of honesty is a carefully curated highlight reel?

There he was, flooding Facebook with sun-drenched quotes about compassion and truth—as if reposting Brene Brown could absolve him of the lies he whispered to his friends, the stories he spun for his girlfriends, and the gaslight he flickered in front of me like it was mood lighting.

He preaches virtue like it’s a personal brand, but I know the behind-the-scenes footage. The script he doesn’t share. The broken promises, the sweet nothings that turned out to be just that—nothing.

Maybe in the age of social media, kindness is less about action and more about aesthetic. But deep down, I had to ask: Is it still kindness if it’s only posted, but never practiced?

And when someone lies so well to the world, do they even remember the truth themselves?

[davecortel]

[davecortel]

the universe has a plan for you, even if you can't see it yet.

[davecortel]

[davecortel]

[davecortel]

I like my body when it’s with your body

[davecortel]