“We rose up slowly… as if we didn’t belong to the outside world any longer… like swimmers in a shadowy dream… who didn’t need air to breathe…”—We Rose Up Slowly | Roy Lichtenstein
What is this thing called love that you speak ?
We’re out of it.
Russian Meteor Strike, February 2013
(Source: joan-watsoned, via vomissement)
Éponge à sentiments.
