Moscow, 1967.
Tonight everything hurts, not only the separation, but this terrible hunger of body and mind for you which every day you are increasing, stirring more and more. I don’t know what I am writing. Feel me holding you as I have never held you before, more deeply, more sadly, more desperately, more passionately.
by Anaïs Nin, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller  (via age-ofconsent)

(via ev2233-deactivated20140305)


USSR. Moscow. the illuminated Kremlin buildings. 1947.
Robert Capa


when you refuse to look at your bank account balances and pretend like everything is ok

(via holymolybajolie)

And if all that is meaningless, I want to be cured
Of a craving for something I cannot find
And of the shame of never finding it.
by T.S. Eliot, “The Cocktail Party” (via larmoyante)

(via cremebureleya-deactivated201401)