starting from today i'll be taking a one-week break. i need to reassess every thing, both in my life and about this blog . i need to finish several courses to be taken, too, and i want to be able to concentrate well.
i just want my reader friends to know that every single understanding means a lot to me.
à bientôt :)
from alexis mabille fall 2011 prêt-à-porter
note: this dress actually has very interesting details located at the parting of the pink fabric; a light-weighted material with bohemian prints. you should see the model during the move.
credit: style.com
one day she got accepted by l'École de la Chambre syndicale de la couture parisienne. it was raining very lightly the time she walked home. the air carried a melancholy scent, but it wasn't enough to dissolve the happiness in her heart. she walked. and walked. and walked. she dreamed of reaching the sun. and dreamed. and dreamed. and dreamed until the wings of her reveries started growing silver edges. she was still the girl every one used to know, but had since long ago lost track who she really was. her footsteps carried an unlikely rhythm. it was a dance. a dance with breaths and live in itself. a dance as light as the clothes she wore that day she walked home.
ph: devina
I smoked until the morning sun painted a red line across the horizon, its rise slowly completing the shades of warm colors. Morning was approaching its peak, and in the morning the Avenue had lost its spell. Some tourists were seen coming to the place. Starbucks was opening, I could see the morning-shift staffs rushing in, preparing things. I was still sitting on the wooden ground of the veranda, smoking one cigarette after another. I still had on the heavy leather jacket, broken-pink bodysuit, and old combat boots from last night. I woke up with my hair messed up. I was looking at the sun. The night scenery of the harbor had been crushed under a harsh blow of reality. The dark stage had been bathed in light and people were coming in, filling the theater. The strange flow of time had returned to its forward-moving, fast-paced states.
ph: devina
Bare skin, butter-colored light filtering through the sheer curtains. she woke up with her hair messed up. she was looking at the sun. The night scenery of the harbor had been crushed under a harsh blow of reality. The dark stage had now been bathed in light and people were coming in, filling the theater. The strange flow of time had returned to its forward-moving, fast-paced states.
she tucked on the earphones and replayed the song from last night, her eyes surfing through the starry windows.
my super space lover, she was my super space lover.
my
super
space
lover.
ph: devina
ryohei's "the game we played" was playing at a loud volume in her earphones. the night air carried a chill, unlikely at first, then after a while her skin had adapted itself to reality. the blasts. the waves. the powerful currents that carried fate contained inside layers of clear membranes. the night's battle was the cold pavements against the thick soles of her combat boots. she thought she could always stomp.stomp.stomp. carried a certain rhythm with her. stomp.stomp.stomp. she only wanted to build her own bridge between fantasy and reality. she would like somebody to tell her that she was only a nice, simple, lost girl who loved to listen to songs which genres are almost undefinable. facts didn't ring true. she was inside a glass ball, and it was not about to let the outer air pressure in through the layers.
even if the air was let in, what would be retrieved inside her was the scent of aged pages in a book.
ph: devina
love lies down on the cold, cold asphalt ground. the evening afterglow had kindly left the horizon. the streets bathed in mute lights as innocuously as loneliness. she went out with a thick paperback, a pack of cigarettes, a notebook, and a pen in her bag. she'd lie down on the cold asphalt pavement to gaze at the indigo sky. she'd notice the colors passing by, melting into the intense grayness the way the passage of time being downed by the edge of nothingness. the city was asleep. she would be writing down her dreams about a harbor far away. a harbor at the edge of an island framed by a metropolis. the harbor that went along really well with the southern sea as if they were made together in the day of creation. at night, the sea would be so dark it'd be hard to differ it from the night sky. every morning someone would step on one of her velvet boots to wake her up.
and she'd wake up, with a cigarette dangling between her lips, she'd wake up, holding with her the dreams of a harbor far away. a harbor at the edge of an island. love lies down on the cold, cold asphalt ground.
the crowds, tapping my finger to ellington's jazz playing in the background, but i said nothing. purely nothing. not that i had not anything to say, but it was simply i wanted to preserve the silence. i had not run out of any word to say, to express, but something inside me wanted me to be silent. i wanted the passage of time to stir nothing in me for now, forget about me for a while, stir whatever inside me really, really slowly i could hardly detect a single movement.
i washed down tom collins with a glass of iced perrier, feeling the faint bites on my tongue. still, i said nothing. he said nothing. we said nothing. we were looking at the crowds alright, savoring every fleeting second of the afternoon, but we said nothing. i waited. and waited. and waited. looking out through the windows where the lights came filtering in.
thank you lisa!
SOON
