Exodus

Safety truly is an illusion

Over the cashier’s shoulder is a picture of a little boy with hazel eyes, like those of his father. He’s beautiful in a way that has me staring long after is appropriate.

“What did you do?” I whisper.

“I did what thieves do. I stole you!”

I’d been a fool to think I knew heartbreak before, and maybe I have, but never have I felt I lost a piece of myself to it, until now.

Je ne veux pas n’être qu’une phase pour toi.”

And you’re fluent in fucks to give.

“I don’t want to live in a country with a brittle spirit, I want to live amongst soldiers.”—Dave Chappelle

A fucking Greek tragedy with a Shakespearean twist.

I hate the power it gives to those who don’t deserve it, and the lives it steals for those who are a slave for just a little of it. I hate the greed, and the thirsty deeds done to acquire it, and the fear and the bitterness it inspires in those who don’t have it.

He seems to consider most things an experience, not music, but a single song, not food, but a feast, not wine but a tasting. And sex, that he takes even more seriously. For him, it’s an art form