There's No Time Like The Past

I'm Helena, I'm 19 years young, I live in England, and I'm engaged :)
Vintage, Victorian, Edwardian, and various other things that maybe look like your grandma might own them.
Oh & Daisy by Marc Jacobs.
That's pretty much all I post :)
I should have been born about 200 years ago.
I'm in love with Jane Austen.

Talk to me! I don't bite - honest! No matter how random you are :) I'm interested.
And submit things too :)

 lady grinning souls

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Fall in love with the writer

So someone will watch over you the whole night and smile at your awkward sleeping position. The writer will admire your imperfections, carefully sketching your details in mind—that mole in your left cheek, your hair arranged in weird angles, your slightly opened mouth, the sound of your breathing and even the rise and fall of your chest. You won’t see The writer in your dreams, much as The writer wanted to be there, for it is more fascinating to watch your face illuminated by the moonlight and the lampshade and keep you safe. When the moment ends, as everything does, The writer will still love you in the morning.

When you wake up, The writer will tell you how the night was and how beautiful you are. You will smile, and your smile will linger in the in-between of the passing months and years. Every day, The writer will always look back at those memories you’ve sewn together, some in best thread, some in poison, but still everlastingly cherish for The writer knows the truthfulness of what has been said and what you’ve felt. And the bitter reality what it won’t ever happen anymore.

Hold on tight, always. The writer will take you to a different place, communicate with you in strange language and laugh with you at silent jokes. The writer will see you in your secret self and will always wonder how could be so wonderful. You will have an adventure that will take your breath away. On holidays, The writer will not bring you the kind of present that can be seen everywhere and can be owned by everyone—but something that only The writer, of all people in this world, can provide. The writer likes the idea of rarity. The writer will love you in a way far different from the others. The writer will not tell you cliché phrases.

There are moments when you have to set The writer free. The writer has a need for solitude, a place of reconstructing the thoughts, the wits and the humour that The writer has. Sometimes, even in front of you, The writer will disappear and reappear inside in the other world, where something could be knit into a beautiful poetry. Let go. After all, you won’t be able to hold the writer still. Then wait. Remember that The writer’s thoughts run in circle—wherever it begin, it will always end up with you. It won’t take long before the writer comes back again, across the universe, holding that prose about you, for you and only you. Because no matter how The writer loves that place, it is and will always be haunted without you.

If you have not found The writer yet, the best place possible is the library—next to the sanctuary The writer’s ownself had created. The writer usually sits in the corner, isolated to everybody, near the window, where The writer could alter the course of time from reading piles of books on the table, to scribbling and crumpling the draft papers, to staring outside, past the tree and passed the sky, and to looking at you interminably whilst holding your hands in front of the world.

For the writer there is a big difference between having sex and making love, between fucking and possessing one’s soul. Time can pass without The writer having sex—unlike any ordinary human being with a usual high percentage of libido—simply cuddling, feeling the warmth of each other, the pleasure of finally, after the ages of quest, finding your other half and never letting go.

Stay in love with The writer. It is like writing a book in the inside of your skin, where every memory will both haunt you forever. You will hate The writer for playing the piano out of the blue or for asking your parents to let you out or for staring at you for an hour, but years from now, when all has been said and done, it would be like a story you can unfold and read even in the darkest corner.

Grow old with The writer. The writer can take you to the place, where everything, even pain, is beautiful. The writer will still and always love you in the morning. The writer will hold your hand in front of the world. The writer will never grow tired looking at you interminably. The writer, whenever that person begins, will always end up with you. The writer will always come back. The write, when everything walks away, will forever stay. The writer will even cheat destiny just to be near you.

And I swear you will be infinite.

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