better are mouthfuls of tranquility than wingfuls of toil & wind & cords restlessly snapping / this all comes without meaning the way you depart in darkness & in darkness your name is shrouded / better what the eye sees when the almond tree blooms when the skin drags itself along & desire is no longer stirred
— Aby Kaupang
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“The room is full of the remains of our love. Nothing can be given back.”
Qiu Miaojin, Last Words from Montmartre. (via seols)
Lean-to, 2014
Photograph, colored pencil, on paper.
15 x 11 x 1 inches.
heartbeat
speak slow