greeneyes55:

Pierre et Paulette
 Saint-Germain Des Pres Paris 1962
Photo: Ed van der Elsken 

greeneyes55:

Pierre et Paulette

Saint-Germain Des Pres Paris 1962

Photo: Ed van der Elsken 

(via splitterherzen)


He came in, smelling of booze and cigarettes. He had been out. He was drunk. Yet, at 4 a.m he had begged her to let him come to her. 

She was angry with him though. Angry for letting her walk around in the cold just an hour earlier, feeling played and confused.

"Can I come over? I’m at the stop. You are a strong woman, you know if you want me to come or not. Just say one or the other."

She gave in. Did this make him win? She didn’t want him to think he had won. Not her, not anything.

But, when he entered her room, held her close, his smell clouded her mind, and there she was. She had lost. And they both knew it.


April is the cruelest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain.
T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land (via splitterherzen)

(via splitterherzen)



He looked at me like I was crazy. Most of my lovers do, and that’s partly why they love me, and partly why they leave.
Jeanette Winterson (via wordsthat-speak)

(via sonofabaggins)


disheartens:

I hope you fall in love with a man with good music taste and a jawline stronger than your wifi connection

(via splitterherzen)




Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.
Oscar Wilde (via seancordova)

(via seancordova)


Which do you want: the pain of staying where you are, or the pain of growth?
Judith Hanson Lasater (via splitterherzen)

(via splitterherzen)