xenitis
@_resurgam_
26 okur puanı
Ekim 2021 tarihinde katıldı
One scene stayed with de Chauliac forever, obsessing him, even though, mercifully, the rest would blur; he saw a devil with wide black wings gripped by two angels, who drove it down and seemed to speak in its ears as they fell; they hit the bend of the Rhône, sending up a great, illuminated plume of water visible from Orange.
Two angels and a devil had tumbled into the water. Three angels came up. Forgiveness, then, was possible even for the worst.
I sit on that line that so many sit on, the line between beautiful and not. The line where I can reach it on a good day, during the follicular phase of my cycle, if I didn't sleep on my face, with just the right amount of plucking and primping and a precise swath of eyeliner. It's the line that keeps me even more stuck in the hamster wheel of the pursuit of beauty. Even more dependent on makeup tutorials and tips-and-tricks videos and "that perfect cream bronzer". Because anything could be the thing that makes the difference between me being beautiful or not.
We start to make our way down the coastal trail. He asks me about my future and I ask him about his past. There's something about it that devastates me, in the assumption that my life is ahead of me and his is behind him. That twenty years is the difference between a life that's considered yet to be lived and one that's considered over.
They were solitary little girls whose loneliness was so profound it intoxicated them and sent them stumbling into Technicolored visions that always included a presence, a someone, who, quite like the dreamer, shared the delight of the dream.
