unseenamore said: Nahh :/ where in SoCal are ya at?
Like 30 minutes away from LA, out near Pomona
I wish I could hang out with my followers in real life. DO any of you even live in Socal?
Everything is falling apart without you here,
even the sky is crumbling, 09/29/14
"Much more likely you’ll hurt me. Still what does it matter? If I’ve got to suffer, it may as well be at your hands, your pretty hands."
Jean-Paul Sarte (via avvfvl)
"The interesting thing about grief, I think, is that it is its own size. It is not the size of you. It is its own size. And grief comes to you. You know what I mean? I’ve always liked that phrase “He was visited by grief,” because that’s really what it is. Grief is its own thing. It’s not like it’s in me and I’m going to deal with it. It’s a thing, and you have to be okay with its presence. If you try to ignore it, it will be like a wolf at your door."
Stephen Colbert (via aestheticintrovert)
I am no city.
I have not birthed
No part of me is eternal, and
visitors do not cross miles
to see my chapels or
walk my streets.
My hills are dirt
from the graves
I dig myself.
Rome was not built
in one day and
Still, centuries of rubble
The exposed neck: from the accessory nerve (emerging) to the vocal fold.
You see her for the first time and she’ll walk right past you like you are a crack in the wall and she is a skyscraper with her head so high in the air and when you can’t sleep you’ll think about the way her eyes strayed into yours for a moment too long before breaking away and disappearing into the crowd of people.
She’ll look both ways before telling you she loves you under her breath and when she hugs you her eyes scan the empty room as if the walls had eyes and ears and mouths that could give you away.
When she’s curled up on your lap shaking with mismatched breaths you’ll wonder how someone who looked like she carried mountains on her shoulders could crumble so easily in your arms like the tornado in her mind finally hit her and knocked her off her feet.
In half-light she’ll run her fingers over your arms like she is reading words carved into your skin, binding them together into the perfect metaphor and you’ll hear it playback in your head at 4am when your head runs wild with thoughts of her.
You’ll find a safe haven on rooftops and abandoned rooms where she’ll set fire to your insides with hushed breaths between kisses planted perfectly on your lips and make you wonder how dangerous it is to play with wild flames while your body is made of paper.
You’ll stare God right in the eye and tell him that if loving her was a sin then you want no place in heaven with him because the way her lips fit perfectly on your neck is a type of paradise you’ll never forget.
Agnes Cecile (aka) Silvia Pelissero
" ( ) "
Acrylic, Watercolor, Charcoal, Pencil and Pen on Canvas
120 cm x 80 cm