My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.
”[..] and then she came in, and it was like diving into white-water rapids and having no desire to hang on to the side. Throughout shooting, it was wild and exciting. I couldn’t help but try to stay with her, keep pace with her, and not let her get away.”
This house is so large,
And the windows are large,
And the children are skinny and tiny
And the mom asks me to validate her clothing, and I just, sigh.
Today I sigh because I miss your hands
The way you were ever so kind in the mornings.
A breathe of fresh air.