97’ Adored, Chivaaree.

(💬) 𝖺 𝗃𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁.

i wish i wrote the way i thought; obsessively, incessantly, with maddening hunger. i'd write to the point of suffocation. i'd write myself into nervous breakdown, manuscript spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. and i'd write about you a lot more than i should.

maybe that boy just wanted a taste of the sun.

the winter has been awfully harsh, isn't it?

a dappped sun finally thaws their bodies, and sweet-smelling sap releases their bones. a bitter morning peels them apart. empty chest rhythm the wind, and fugue states of mind comply. they can barely even hum past the week thrums of their faint heartbeat.

a flock of ivory caged birds softly trill an arcadian winter hymn, despite their tethered bones, clipped wings, and the frost nipping at their flattened eyes. tenderness aches a symphony of incarceration. their feathers brittle, splintering into the dead of their nest.

⠀ 𝖫𝖠𝖯𝖠𝖪 𝖯𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖴𝖬𝖯𝖴𝖫𝖠𝖭 𝖬𝖨𝖲𝖨 𝖢𝖳𝖠𝖠𝖲𝖲 𝖢𝖳𝖠𝖲𝖲𝖲 𝟫𝟩𝖧𝖤𝖧𝖤 ⠀

“welcome home, bright.” everyone cheered. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀glory glory, man united.

“it was november— 𓍼 the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines.” ⠀⠀— 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘨𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘺, c. 25.

i find a calm that asks for nothing but presence. some days feel like a gentle pause, a reminder that even in the simplest frames, there is room to breathe, to wander, and to just exist without hurry.

ㅤ ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄ㅤthere’s a quiet kind of confidence that settles in the moments between movement and stillness, when the world feels soft around the edges and time slows just enough to catch your breath.

and someday i will return to the salt and the sea. someday to the sun. neither will be follies. tell me atlas, “what is heavier: the world or it's people heart?”

“exister est un fait, vivre est un art— une soirée inoubliable à paris.”