You are the rubber and I am the glue,
which is the only reason I’m nice to any of you.
(Source: spoonerette)
It’s hard to believe there’s a whole world of people out there that don’t know about you. They can look at you and look past you. I would be any one of them, with their hurt and their heartache, their vain longing, desire, resentment of others’ blissful ignorance to what (to who) makes it so. I wouldn’t tell them about you, they wouldn’t care. About the details of you, your looks and your skin, I would never try with all my might to describe that look: when we held hands and thread our way through the holiday rabble, and you looked back to make sure I was there, despite my hand in yours. Still I wish you’d look back now, now that you’ve let me back into that crowd, left me with all these faces. And I don’t know who you are but I know who you are to me: that feeling of recognition when I catch your eyes, that feeling of knowing: I have been loved by this face, I’ve held it in my hands, I’ve kissed it with my body, I’ve held it in my mind— for too long—and I see it when my eyes are closed. I close my eyes and see your face. I open my eyes and it’s a sea of strangers who aren’t looking for you, as I have been—for too long—and I would be any one of them. I would take on a hundred years of memories, five hundred seen with foreign eyes, ten thousand foreign faces loved hopelessly, hopelessly unforgotten, if it meant I could lose your face among them.
(Source: spoonerette)
Mailing out the first batch of valentines today!!
I admit I was inspired by an Etsy user’s creation (here), but I made these characters out of felt and then backed each with cardstock and a magnet! The inside reads, “You’re the popcorn to my movies!” / “sushi to my sake!” etc.
I have a few others not photographed because their recipients may see this blog and I’d like to leave a little surprise.
(Source: spoonerette)
Very new to charcoals, but I drew this tightrope walker a few nights ago. I’m really happy with it. (Too bad the photo was taken with my crappy phone.)
(Source: spoonerette)
I cannot begin to list the books that I have read and loved, though Nabokov’s “Lolita” is always a great place to begin for the power of its unparalleled prose to have the reader battling moral quandaries as each passage entices romantic engagement and each reflection of that passage recalls the ignobility of it’s meaning.
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