𝐻𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠 🌺

"As a woman there's just something inherently vulnerable and humiliating about being naked while wearing shoes, heels to be precise. It’s as if your dignity has been stripped away from you, reducing you to nothing more than an object for observation—expected to uphold an illusion of beauty even in your most exposed state."

In my visual arts class, we studied a sketch on ideal human proportions. What struck me was that while the male figure was fully naked, the female figure, though also nude, was depicted wearing heels. It was a subtle yet glaring reminder of the unspoken expectation that in society women must remain visually appealing even in their most vulnerable state.

—A lady and her quill, Journal of wandering thoughts.

If I cannot love you openly like I wish, if I cannot hold your hand when walking Or wrap you in my arms late at night. Then I will love you silently, in my mind and behind closed eyes For there, there is no rejection or heartbreak. And surely it is better to love silently than to not love at all?

—unknown

“She was still a girl, a slight lovely girl who lay in bed and ate chocolates, a girl whose hair smelled like hyacinth and whose white scarves fluttered jauntily in the breeze; a girl as bewitching, and clever, as any girl who ever lived.”

― Donna Tartt, The Secret History

"People. People. Endless noise. And I am so tired. And I would like to sleep under trees; red ones, blue ones, swirling passionate ones"

― Alfred Stieglitz, My Faraway One: Selected Letters of Georgia O'Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz

—Joan of Arc

— Albert Camus

—ℝ𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕨 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘭𝘥— 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘶𝘴. 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮. 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘗𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴, 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, “𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵,” 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭— 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴, 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘞𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴.

—A Lady and Her Quill, Journal of Wandering Thoughts