Average Height Female

A pound of flesh

For my birthday, my mother gave me a pocket watch, she knows that I like antiques. It is a mechanism skeleton, we see all the cogs turning and the keys move. The second hand does not jump jerkily, she slips on the dial, as free. I wore it to my ear. I always hated ticking watches. But his ticking to it, it's magic, light and fluid ... I have already readjusted several times an hour. The mechanism is fragile. On the manual, it says that we should not turn too strong as possible.

Vella, transparent and sensitive. Look no. The pocket watch is me.

Invisible While Facebook

separate living and dead

"How do you do to cope? "You asked me this once. At first, I did not know what to say - indeed I was not even aware that I could take, I was there, that's all. At first I thought I had just managed to be a little more courageous. But ultimately it was not a question of bravery, when I think. I let myself be walked on, I'm lying on the floor of the bathroom, quintals of tissues in each fist, and I let time pass. I looked without seeing the tiny grains of sand falling over each other in the hourglass. I saw that I was getting older when the leaves began to redden and the trees were bare. In my room it smelled of sugar. My whole house smelled of sugar. Even today it m'abrutit, it intoxicates me. But I know now what I did to cope. I thought all these little things, all these little nothings . So small before they slipped to avoid being seen, not felt. Surprise a beautiful boy who surreptitiously watching you, drink hot chocolate with friends, or hot tea while reading a good book to roll in the grass, eat something too fatty or too spicy, but having tasted, have felt all the aromas and secrets, read a beautiful love letter (and even non -love); cry in front of a turnip U.S.; cry in front of an onion being peeled, crying tears of joy taste water sea, leaving the hairdresser with a large smile and open a big beautiful wrapping the day of his birthday, give up everything and do it properly tear (and blow out the candles too, it feels good) to pass a line of eyeliner impeccable go to the cellar for some wine and stay white little longer to feel the clean laundry that comes out of the machine; afford a new bag and want them because the closet is already overflowing, buy vinyl and attend the ceremony of turntables, the thirty dance-three towers squeezed tight against the diamond whistling response (hello doll, you sing well) make love to a boy who smells like hot sand, as in the song, watch his sisters and be happy to realize that they like, loving someone, hate someone and love it.

And feel loved, supported, like you worry, there. I like your head when you're sad, it's human?

Why British Wearing Rose

Just disfigured

Russian Dolls

They had met at a jazz concerto, in the suburbs St. Louis. They still had music to the ears, it could not end so abruptly. Then they went home, it was just next door. They listened to the vinyls Chloe sipping cognac.

He wanted, she wanted too. He was alone, she was not pretty.

And then when Charlie woke up, he began a long time to realize he was not home, but in a strange bed, smelling of lavender and a brass saxophone. He turned to Chloe. She had a completely different face to the light, which pierced the shutters lazily. His hair was blond brassy and framed an oval face, perfect. His lips stretched into a very rosy smile frozen and shaken by sleep. His eyelids were moving translucent fringe of his eyelashes. Charlie could tell he was hiding two globes curious, green bottle. From his temple to his chin digging the mark of the pillow. Adorable.

It was perhaps not so trivial after all.

Quietly, he raised himself on his elbow and threw a glance at the bedside. Under the lamp Rococo lay a copy of One Hundred Years of loneliness. The salon was

full of old books smelled of dust and surrounded by photographs of small wooden frames. Pieces of life.

Finally, he longed to know, that Chloe. He had planned to slip away, without leaving his number, as usual. But a girl named Chloe, like the song Ellington, how can it be like all the others, eh?

So good. Everyone can make mistakes. At night, all cats are gray. I guess the girls too.

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the strong desire to take

L'auberge espagnole

It's raining outside.

Lucas holds the camera. We hear the laughter in the video. They sing. Very wrong, but they do not care, after all they are not there for that. They sing very loud, and when the music stops to let his place barely cooled to another, their ears ringing painfully. Lisa has the voice that goes wrong, it's a lot Garance laugh. It smells alcohol banana, Lisa, anyway she still feels the sugar. She dances with small, jerky movements with his grace all its own. His big green eyes laughing louder than his throat, and it's beautiful to see.

Rain sign a truce.

They burn a cigarette near the pavilion in the garden. Leaning over the wall, they whispered little things, a smile. They are often, but Garance has always dreams to tell, the books advise, criticize movies, gossip to spill ... And sometimes they do not even need to talk. Lisa smiles again. Winston hung his lips, like a little firefly, gives an unflappable air and wild.

"It is notorious around here at night. I know a girl who was attacked in the corner over there. "

One last puff and the cigarette falls a few feet below, in a small shower of sparks.

"Beware of cactus! "

Lisa turned, his face is bathed in light and shadow. She is very beautiful. Garance wants to take her in his arms but Lisa already short to return.

The rain has returned.