Janice Dickinson by Guy Bourdin for Elle France, July 1975


The building was dimly lit. The whole building seemed right out of a movie like the Bronx Tale or something. When I reached up 4 flights of stairs he was waiting with his door open. 

It felt like coming home after a long journey. The smell, the light, the air, his arms, all felt home. 
"Sorry, let me just clean the apartment for you, just a second." 
He opened all the doors and swiped all the dust away. Then I folded the random pile of clothing on his couch. 
"Awh thank you. You’re so sweet." 
After the cleaning he gave me water. “I’m keeping you hydrated,” he said. 
I started telling him about the movie I was watching but I missed the ending of it. So he asked if he wanted me to put on the ending and we can watch it together. 
So we ended the movie together while laying beside each other on his bed. 
As I turned around after the obvious end of the action movie, with the superhero kissing the damsel in distress princess, he planted two soft kisses on my lips. 
Since then I live in the folds of those sheets on his bed that we were intwined in for hours that day. 



Today in science we learned that you can never gain cold, you can only have an absence of heat; and it made me think that maybe hatred doesn’t exist, and there’s only an absence of love.

this is the realist shit I’ve ever read


There’s an ache
Deep in my chest
Where you left
A piece of you.

“She’s not cold hearted, she’s just tired.” — Anonymous  (via 1112pm)