“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
To love, and be love… on To love, and be loved. Lilian Druve on Emit Your Own Frequency M. Russell Hausman (… on Poem: Slept With a Strang…
There was an error retrieving images from Instagram. An attempt will be remade in a few minutes.