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“So if I asked you about art you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo? You know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine…
I saw your eyes And then I saw her staring back at me And I will try to find another one Who suited me as well as her I’ve moved far away from you And I want to see you here beside me, dear But things aren’t clear When we never even tried We never even talked We never even thought in the long run Whenever it was painful Whenever I was away I’d miss you I miss you
Memories of love. Trying to imagine how much I have changed since then. (via sgvillalta)
"I just have to say one thing and it’s really important that you just listen to me. I just… It doesn’t feel like this, this thing is gonna go away, it’s always there. I can’t… I can’t get on with my life."
"I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn’t, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it’s the halves that halve you in half. I didn’t know, don’t know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me."