May your lipstick be the reddest and your eyeliner be symmetrical.
The first boy who’s ever liked me, that I’ve liked back….
And I don’t know why these things happen. But apparently I need to be stronger than anything that can never be destroyed.
He wasn’t for me. I got to taste all that he was but he wasn’t for me. He’s for someone else and she is not me. She is lucky and….. She is really really lucky :/ and stupid for leaving him. Because how can you?
I’m so sorry universe for what I’ve done. But if you could please….. Just stop it.
This makes no sense but I don’t even have the ability to string coherent words together right now.
After so many years of one-night stands and flings and breakups
and possibly even eventual divorces with happy women,
women full of joy who put their slippers in order by color
and always seemed to know exactly what to do with
the dirty tea cups, washing them instead of…
Liv Tyler for The Face, UK (February, 1996), by Bettina Rheims
Her final release of smoke from her lungs fills the air in front of her. With her heart feeling as if it is being pulled down by a ton of weight, she reaches behind her. In one swift motion she reaches for and grips tightly a small piece of cold metal and tugs down. She’s used to it by now; unzipping her own dresses. Twenty five years of doing everything for yourself makes you a pro. The dress wasn’t worn for much time, but it has to smell of the smoke she surrounded herself with just minutes before. Deciding to rewear it for a not so formal occasion she hangs it up on her closet door. Alone.
I am always alone.
She thinks. You would think by now everything would feel numb to her. That this situation would hurt less and less but the reality is, with each and every rejection she feels worse. There must have had to been something wrong. Something had to have gone wrong.