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♥ precious.
la bella vita;

Cara

loves: black and white photography. poetry. vintage stores. thunderstorms. good ambience. fairytales. disneyworld. black kohl and fuschia lipstick. red and purple skittles. turquoise beads. icing but not cakes. might-have-beens. the dandy warhols. within temptation. automatic loveletter. mediaeval baebes. troy. interview with a vampire. the oc. making 11:11 wishes. purple glitter. mermaids. my-little-ponies. magic.

expertise: melodramaticks. eyeliner. laughing. goodbyes. hanging in there.

♥ music on, world off.
shh.

soundtrack to life.

♥ scream(?).
live.

♥ past .
instant time travel

December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010

♥ adieu .
set them free

AMANDA
ANDRE
ASH
DEB
ELEMM
07IP04!
08IP04!
JOSH
KAT
LISA
QIU
RENJEAN


♥ credits .
thankyouverymuch

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Image: 03
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Brushes: 07 08 09 10
Fonts: 11

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Friday, May 1, 2009
hello, old friend. 9:37 PM

unsubmitted essay #157


Can I help you?
You must be new here. I've seen you wandering these streets with those wondering, trusting, accepting eyes; and the big city isn't a good place to be any of those things.
You've got dirt on your face and a palmprint on your coat where a man tried to mug you and from the way you took a step back when I approached you, I know you know. I know you're learning fast. This is a big city and it's every man for himself.

Can I help you?
...You must think I'm crazy or out to get you like the rest of them. I suppose in places like these, it's not every day that a complete stranger walks up and extends their hand to you without trying to get their fingers in your pockets. But there's something about you that I like, yeah, something about you that's screaming "break me I'm fragile" and I love that.
You're vulnerable. You're innocent. You wouldn't last a day in the city and I want to protect you from that.

Maybe it's the way you remind me of me. Of the way I used to be. Of the way everyone here used to be before the city swallowed us whole.
We used to know what love was. We went out at night and the nightclubs were filled with people laughing and throwing up their hands with old friends. (Now the nightclubs have just become seedy watering-holes for lonely animals. Loneliness makes people no better than animals.)
We used to have our own voices. The streets resonated with the sound of our singing and everything harmonized and was beautiful even though we were all singing different melodies. (Now they play piped-in music in the department stores and the entire city's been tuned to a single frequency, because urban warriors find strength in numbers, in statistics, in homogeneity.)
We used to be alive. Everything about this city was once alive. The people lifted their faces to the sky like springflowers and the roads ran like rivers and the buildings sprang from the ground and grew like joyful trees. (Now you could walk the city by evening and mistake it for a ghost town. The flowers don't look you in the eye and the people walk with their heads down and collars turned up. The buildings keep growing taller but that's because we keep building them that way, not because they're alive; they gave up on us and died a long time ago)

Can I help you?
I couldn't help us
couldn't help me
you're my last shot at saving a bit of how this place used to be.
There's got to be some way I can save you; some way short of placing you in a glass globe
suspended high above the city to stop it from getting to you.
You need to be protected.
You're a poster child for everything we've lost along the way.

Can I help you?
We're too far gone to help ourselves
please help us.