bound




attaches:

untitled by kate chausse on Flickr.
palm:

http://weareright.tumblr.com by Filip Bojović on Flickr.
"They drift, drift through neighborhood after neighborhood, sometimes it’s hard to tell the good from bad, the safe from dangerous. They start looking at cars in driveways, figure European cars mean nice neighborhood, American cars mean okay neighborhood, shit cars mean shit neighborhood. Their theory holds until they hear automatic gunfire on a street lined with Mercedeses and Cadillacs. Unlike most major American cities, there is no logic to the streets of LA, no easy grid to follow, there was no foresight in the construction of its transportation system. As the city grew, often at exponential rates, roads were built. They go where they go and sometimes they don’t. For two kids who grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere, it’s daunting and intimidating. They’re looking for something, looking for somewhere. Maps won’t help them, so they drive, they drift. They sleep on the mattress in the back of the truck. In order to save money they eat popcorn and saltines for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, they drink water from the sinks of public bathrooms. After three days they find the beach. They park in a mammoth lot in Santa Monica, they lie in the sun, swim in the ocean, sleep on the sand. They splurge and buy hot dogs and ice cream cones on the Santa Monica Pier, which is like a county fair built over the water with rides, a merry-go-round, games, and sweet, cheap, greasy food. They pretend they’re on their honeymoon. They forget about their past lives and forget about the prospect, or lack thereof, of their future life. They lie naked beneath a blanket. Their bodies warm the sand, they kiss each other, hold each other, say I love you to each other. The waves break twenty feet away. The moon spreads itself across the blackness of the water. For now, at least, they have found it. Whatever it is. They have found it. For now. They stay up late they go again, again, they lie in each other’s arms and say I love you they’re nineteen and on their own and they’re in love and they still believe in the future."
Bright Shiny Morning (via bornaruffian)
serenitypatrol:

rad-kiss:

this is the best thing ever. when he knows everything about you - your naked body, naked soul - and still loves you more than anyone else.

I like the thought of someone trusting me with all of themselves.
untrustyou:

夏先生
winterfellis:

untitled by Wang.Wei on Flickr.
"Your happiness means everything to me. I will listen for your voice in the distance. I will look at the moon. I will keep you in my pocket. I will carry your smile with me everywhere like a warm and comforting glow."
Tabitha Suzuma Forbidden (via sempiternale)
they-call-me-nita:

Life is like an ocean. It can be calm and still or rough and rigid. But in the end it’s always beautiful.
everlastingg:

(by koreline)
grett:

oldphoto by *dapple dapple on Flickr.
ecklekctic:

Anna Karina: That happened while we were shooting the picture in Geneva. It was a strange love story from the beginning. I could see Jean-Luc was looking at me all the time, and I was looking at him too, all day long.  We were like animals. One night we were at this dinner in Lausanne. My boyfriend, who was a painter, was there too. And suddenly I felt something under the table – it was Jean-Luc’s hand. He gave me a piece of paper and then left to drive back to Geneva. I went into another room to see what he’d written.  It said, “I love you.  Rendezvous at midnight at the Café de la Prez.” And then my boyfriend came into the room and demanded to see the piece of paper, and he took my arm and grabbed it and read it.  He said, “You’re not going.” And I said, “I am.” And he said, “But you can’t do this to me.”  I said, “But I’m in love too, so I’m going.” But he still didn’t believe me. We drove back to Geneva and I started to pack my tiny suitcase.  He said, “Tell me you’re not going.” And I said, “I’ve been in love with him since I saw him the second time. And I can’t do anything about it.” It was like something electric. I walked there, and I remember my painter was running after me crying. I was, like, hypnotized – it never happened again to me in my life.
So I get to the Cafe de la Prez, and Jean-Luc was sitting there reading a paper, but I don’t think he was really reading it. I just stood there in front of him for what seemed like an hour but I guess was not more than thirty seconds. Suddenly he stopped reading and said,” Here you are. Shall we go?” So we went to his hotel. The next morning when I woke up he wasn’t there. I got very worried. I took a shower, and then he came back about an hour later with the dress I wore in the film - the white dress with flowers. And it was my size, perfect. It was like my wedding dress.
We carried on shooting the film, and, of course, my painter left. When the picture was finished, I went back to Paris with Jean-Luc, Michel Subor, who was the main actor, and Laszlo Szabo, who was also in the film, in Jean-Luc’s American car. We were all wearing dark glasses and we got stopped at the border – I guess they thought we were gangsters. When we arrived in Paris, Jean-Luc dropped the other two off and said to me, “Where are you going?”  I said, “I have to stay with you. You’re the only person I have in the world now.” And he said, “Oh my God.”
winterfellis:

by Emmeline Hewstone