Alejandra, 23
- Restless Seeker. Helpless Wanderer

 

elequipoargentino:

Luciana Aymar ‏@aymarlucha

Cumplí el desafio #IceBucketChallenge de @vazqueznico mi desafío es para @manuginobili @valeriamazza y @paolasuarezOK (x)

http://www.alsa.org/ELA Argentina

How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn’t they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?

Don DeLillo, White Noise  (via wiltedbones)

(Source: 13neighbors)

thecsph:

Sex positivity means many things, but it does not mean that all sex is positive or enjoyable.

Agree

(Source: cannibal-rainbow)

While I can’t have you, I long for you. I am the kind of person who would miss a train or a plane to meet you for coffee. I’d take a taxi across town to see you for ten minutes. I’d wait outside all night if I thought you would open the door in the morning. If you call me and say ‘Will you…’ my answer is ‘Yes’, before your sentence is out. I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you.

Jeanette Winterson (via lamesereine)

I have noticed that when all the lights are on, people tend to talk about what they are doing – their outer lives. Sitting round in candlelight or firelight, people start to talk about how they are feeling – their inner lives. They speak subjectively, they argue less, there are longer pauses. To sit alone without any electric light is curiously creative. I have my best ideas at dawn or at nightfall, but not if I switch on the lights – then I start thinking about projects, deadlines, demands, and the shadows and shapes of the house become objects, not suggestions, things that need to done, not a background to thought.

Jeanette Winterson, Why I adore the night
(via larmoyante)