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Clair de Lune Intellectuel Intellectual Moonlight

All photos belong to their respective owner.
Much love from Montreal.

He was winter to her. Whenever she thought of their relationship everything was framed in winter— hot drinks, heavy sweaters, their breaths white together on the frigid air when they took their walks. They had been together in the summer too, but he wasn’t summer to her. He was always winter. It made her think we assign people— lovers especially— seasons in our minds. — Jonathan Carroll (via browndresswithwhitedots)

If you’ve ever loved a book and then you reread it a few years later and it doesn’t mean anything to you—or vice versa, you didn’t like a book and for some reason you open it again and you find it fascinating—it’s just proof that literature is a breathing creature and so are you. — Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler) (x)

(Source : rippergiles)

Rue Prince-Arthur, Montréal

A new record from Ben Howard in October and a new one from Damien Rice in November…really ? Did fall ever sound that good ?

But here’s a question: Is loving something the way I loved you even ‘love’? Shouldn’t a love that is true be sustainable? Should it not grow and flourish rather than dim and wither? Is it possible to love something at full tilt… forever? I realize these are unfair questions to pose to an album. You are what you are—unchanging and static—while we— your listeners—are in a constant state of flux and growth. You’re still the same beautiful, damaged thing you always were. It’s me who changed.

I’m happy I changed, though. Really I am. Approaching forty and listening to Damien Rice on loop would be weird and unfortunate. But there are times, when I think about you and I miss… something. I don’t know that it’s you I miss, actually. It’s the feeling, or rather the realization that I could have loved something that unabashedly, that fully and truly.

Or maybe it’s this: Maybe I just miss being 28 and being heartbroken for the first time. Maybe I was a little in love with the pain. If nothing else, things were vivid. I wasn’t numb. I was legitimately depressed (and even did a disastrous three day dance with Lexapro) but the summer had a kind of cracked beauty to it, the darkness illuminated by some genuine flashes of light, cosmic reminders that I wouldn’t always be feeling that way. There was beauty in the world… and some of it would be mine.

Would I do it all over again? No. One can both mourn a time being gone forever and be grateful that time is over. Youth is funny that way: We worship and miss it and want it done and gone all at the same time.

I wish you well, though. I hope you go on for many years to get under the skin of moody young men and women susceptible to melancholy and convince them you’re the perfect and final word on love and loss. I wouldn’t deny anyone their O phase. I had mine.

I want it back.

And I never want to see it again.

Josh Radnor, an extract of Dear Damien Rice’s seminal 2002 albulm O.

Thank you to have written this. It expresses everything I once felt and perhaps even more…

Alexandra Agoston x Chris Colls

Avec mes yeux, je n’ai jamais vu aussi clairement les couleurs, la beauté et l’intensité du monde qu’avec les tiens. Si c’est moi qui la vois, une demi-lune n’est qu’une demi-lune et non un melon dont tu as dévoré la moitié. Si c’est moi qui la vois, une pierre n’est qu’une pierre et non un poisson magique; et dans le ciel, il n’y a pas de buffle, pas de cœurs, pas de fleurs. Seulement des nuages. — Jan-Philipp Sendker, L’art d’écouter les battements de cœurs.