mac

i’ve never been good at putting it plainly so ill say it like this:

it’s like playing the piano, and you’re just trying to get through the song even though every time you hit a wrong note you have to play another. you’re doing so well, you know this song, you know how it goes but then you fuck it up and there’s a new song. you don’t know this one, and you have to keep starting again and learning new songs. now you know how to start any song perfectly, you’ve got that part down. but the second the climax comes around you’re lost and your fingers don’t know where to go and the hits keep on fucking hitting. 

it’s like rereading your favourite book, and it’s your favourite because it’s so comforting, however at some point the plot takes the most violent turn you can imagine. you would rather die than keep reading but you hope that maybe at the end it will be better, might fix the fear you felt reading that. you keep going but it feels like torture, just to get to an even sadder ending. 

its like washing a jumper that has a stain that you know will never go away, but you cant help but try at scrub at it. the harder you scrub the more you realise that its futile, the stain is embedded so deep in it you dont even know if you can do anything about it anymore. but its your prettiest jumper, and it would look so nice on you if it didn’t have that fucking stain. maybe if you rip it to shreds and knit it back up yourself you can fix it, you dont need any help.

Bolesław Biegas (Polish,1877-1954)

Sanctuaire de l'amour, 1926-1928