sharonsharonsharonsharon

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capybara air balloon

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My late bloomer.

Simultaneously, my prettiest bloom 🪷✨

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SEX AND THE CITY (1998–2004) 5.01 : Anchors Away

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the most Child Emperor urge i have is to shout "BOOORRIINGGG!!!" when i have to witness something i dont like for too long

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"It's just a TV show" maybe to you. I absorbed it into my soul though.

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It's time to embrace consistency in a way you never have before. It's time to take deliberate, thoughtful steps toward the future you've envisioned for yourself. This is your moment.

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Martin Scorsese, to the New York Times, after they published an article shortly after Federico Fellini passed away calling his movies- and other 'foreign' movies of the same ilk- 'hard work'

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upon arrival, lena khalaf tuffaha

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Anaïs Nin, from the diary of Anais Nin, vol. VI: 1955-1966

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James Baldwin talking about love

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Attila Szűcs (Hungarian,b.1967)

Duplicated dreamer, 2021

Oil on canvas

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Photography by Xuebing Du

Instagram: xuebing.du

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Laura Knight (British, 1877-1970), Spring Landscape. Oil on canvas, 64 x 76 cm.

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Feeling Caused by Him Playing With My Hair a Second Before Falling Asleep

27.06.2022

Let me read you lines of poetry while you play with my hair. I’ll let you hold my soul. I promise it’s not heavy; Instead foam-like, really.

I wouldn’t let a hug be immortal anymore, twinkling In the steepest bed of my memory.   I’d let it dance in the dark. You layering toothpaste

On top of my toothbrush in the middle of the night and pressing Yourself up against me in the morning. Symphonies Wither next to your smoky hissing.

Read me love poems while I play with your hair, Those that you keep on your nightstand under the window Next to our legs.

June melts scars of old lovers and men’s promises, Pooled frustration and our layered Identities. Hold me, baby,

Hold me. Not everybody knows, the only winners in war Are phantasmal, created by illusionists. It’s what is self-sabotage: a suicide.

Some nights I like to paint your curls and beard To build myself a little prison, so that I wouldn’t have a way to disappear Again.

First I sketch your arms; then your stomach close to mine, Warm and sweaty. Your tongue as breakfast, Frizz to hide in.

Sometimes I dye your cocoa-coloured curls and beard. I slip my tender body against yours. I am ready, I repeat to myself.

That’s when I draw your calmness Like a tattoo artist, Stamping it ink by ink to my nightly lullaby.

Heat dissolved the foamy whiteness around you. I’ve painted you tanned, thinly chromed you. And I never knew that’s all I needed to do.