Today is all about writing a last speech for school; saturday will be the last official day and I shall march out of there into a new chapter of universities and new responsibilities.
What do I say? I have 5 minutes to sum up the three years I spent in that building, to portray the mixed feelings of happiness and sorrow.
First 10h day went by with a hint of pain in the wristarea and here I go again. I promise to fill up with more pictures of my own in the future, as soon as I have a day off.
I started to answer his letter three times,I just don’t seem to be able to make any sense. Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letterbox.
Then the first tears in weeks pushed through. And I had promised not to shed any more because of him.
(Source: -theperfectmistake, via iwantmybearsuit)
So today I got a letter. From him. And sliced all those hearts.
High-Res photo here
Need to get off to work, I have a feeling that people are going to burry me in ice-cream orders. Greedy fuckers.
Can’t blame them though, Mövenpick is among the best after all.
I packed away all that was his the day it ended, threw it all into a corner where it wouldn’t stare at me, not remind me of how happy I used to be. There’s a bowl. Filled with hearts, one for each day until we would have reached year two, to be filled again with the promise of another year. There should be around 320 hearts left in the bowl, each of them promised to make me smile because he loved.
There are shirts, there’s a towel that says”I love you”, there are pictures and letters swearing on loving me forever, words that mean nothing anymore. Forever.Eternity. Words that laugh at me for believing them, for thinking this is all I will ever want.
And I keep finding his socks, his picture shows up when I least want it to, his bloody name is everywhere.
The irony? It was I who had to end it after the slow torture of him not knowing what he felt anymore, after the numerous days I woke up in panic, wondering if this was the day it would all end. Or would he save us? He never knew. And all that time he kept tearing at my heart, until I couldn’t stand the pain and gave the final push. To save myself.
Photograph by Irving Penn. Published in Vogue, November 1951.
