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MY GOD, IT'S A LOT.
I should write up a billboard that says, "go on, break my heart, and i will make you eternal".
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That's the power of being an artist. And gods, I remember everything. The color of the nail polish she was wearing that night. The specific nuance of red my blood was. The way I screamed into some empty road. I remember, so I write. So I paint.
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All these feelings coming and leaving out of my ribcage in such a frenzy for small body like mine, it's insanity. Yet, I have never been more sane. More centered. I am plunging into my power with a calm and collected attitude, it feels like finally realizing I have been sitting on a golden throne for all this time.
"This is not personal" really became a thing. Not a sentence you throw in disillusionment instead of facing your own sorrow. It's real. If she hurts me, she's the one hurting herself. I just happened to be there. And no, I don't give in.
I think about all these people I trusted once upon a time, how sometimes it breaks my heart to never speak to them, to never laugh along them, to never ever ever see them smile again. I used to think that I was too much, that nobody could love me truly, for what my destiny was too shiny and oh, so lonely.
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This journey is not the one I could have expected, even I can see myself at six years old, stating proudly like the little shit that I was, "I will change the world, one day." I cherish that part of me. She's the one that is the purest, the truest, the most precious of all. So yes, people are what I seek, I can nurture them beyond repairs, to my greatest despair (the rhythm, goddamnit), and yet I need them for what I must seek within. Not to be loved, but maybe, selfishly, a small voice urges me, "if you understand them, they will understand you?", ah, foolish spirit of mine.
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To be able to connect with others is what feed my soul to an height which is difficult to measure. I love people, they mostly love me. Even if the most immediate reactions are admiration or jealousy, which I cannot comprehend to be honest. I am idiotic that way. What you feel about me is not mine to judge, but I have my own feelings as well. Protecting my feelings were often lead me as picturing myself as a bitch, but what can I say. Recently, I've been told that I judge myself too harshly. Do I? I don't know. As much as I love any of you, I won't let anyone stabs me for free. There's a sort of toxic romanticizing of love that I can lean on to some extent, which is ultimately, if I love you in a passionate way, I will give you my heart and you can crush it, whatever, because I choose you above anything else. A stupid and intense part of me, agrees. Though that, in the meantime of finding that person of giving myself to, I protect my feelings. I won't shrink myself because you don't know what the fuck you want or simply, you don't know who you are.
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I know my sins, and they not require any justifications to anyone but myself. I'm tough. I'm soft. This is why I am that demanding towards myself. It doesn't change the fact that, if I see you hurting with your heart of gold, I will let you know that you deserve the world, you know. It doesn't change that, truly. I'm seeing you. You're beautiful.
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"go on, break my heart, and i will make you eternal." it's that plain silly. I'm not sure that any of you breaking my heart actually deserve that attention. But this is my way of healing. This is my way of burning bridges. Lately, someone told me that we were over. In my heart of heart, all I felt for her was love. I couldn't wrap my head around that fact. "Have I come that far? Did I become that great?" Because feelings are feelings. They can't lie, I mean I guess they can, but I own the right to be stupid on this one. I feel blessed, I feel grateful. I sound like a lunatic from a cult, I know. But guess what? I'm the cult leader now.
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-Audrey
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anything, for me.
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2023 is almost finished, and it feels like this year was the first chapter of my life. All the unknown emotions that came crashing onto my self that I could not have expected.
These days, some truth was revealed to my conscious being. I am dissociating emotions from the touch, as a sense. When people touch me, I feel almost nothing. I've been doing that for more than two decades now, out of protection and survival.
It is so fucking confusing.
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After a decade out of deeming myself worthy of being called sensitive and wise, now, after seeing people as they are, embracing life like a bloody seer, now I have to realize that I do not know what to feel when people touch me.
Platonically or sexually. I don't know what I should feel. Like, what do I even like? I kept myself safely hidden, at some reasonable distance from everyone. But Gods, do I love, do I care, do I feel everything. But not through anyone's touch.
To unthread this thread is so weird. What is tenderness and desire in a touch? Disgust, fear and love? I'm not a hugger, except when my friends are drunks.
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When I was doing therapy (EMDR, that shit is extraordinary), this question came up. Why can't I feel when people are touching me? It's always so cold, like medical. And that is alright, I guess as until now, it was. Now I'm wondering why.
So, we dove into my past. The violence my body went through. Even as I'm writing this, I can still hear my voice pleading, "You were not raped, you were not beaten!" and that is true. But to move on from this void, I will need to accept that violence is still violence, even more in the name of Science.
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Their hands choking my throat while they applied plaster on my body, tears in my eyes, I couldn't breath. The way their shear cut the skin of my back deeply instead of the plaster. The blood, and vomit, everywhere. When I begged to have anesthetic before they cut my skins for exams, but told me "no" because it would disturb the results (fuck the results).
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I was two, four, nine, fifteen... I was a good soldier, still am by the way. I took these blows because no one told me it wasn't okay. I only knew this, and still found within my youngest self the light which made me magical.
Consent.
The way some people grab me, to show their power over me, it is probably the thing that I went through that disgusts me the most. He kisses me, caresses me, as if it was friendly and consented. It is not because you disrespected me, and that I said NO. For that, there will be no excuse, never a fucking single one. I scream inside like a wounded animal at that thought.
Once, a physical therapist told me to bend on my knees to show her my back. I complied, because she's an adult, right. I was seven. Then she raised my tee shirt and then, lots of hands touched me without asking me, the skin of my back. I remember the strokes and the humiliation. I didn't know who they were, didn't see their faces, but to this day, I still wonder, why?
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This is a beginning. I'm headed in the direction of the answers I'm seeking. I dissociated to not feel these strangers, and my own revulsion.
Also, eerily, it fits the imagery I created much later, of my own mythology. I'm a sculpture people touch and seek answers from. Leaving me with nothing but my own questions.
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If my soul chose that path, that life, then why does it feel like as if I'm forever stuck between feeling like a burden and my inner god's complex? I love romance but not the pathetic thoughts that echo confusion. I deserve(d) so much better.
I wish to live a touch that feels reciprocated and not forced. I wish to not want to control everything in order to feel safe. I wish that I went through all my life did not damage my vision of myself, as a woman. I wish that my teenage self realized that she could trust others. Yes, pushing people away is easier, even when you're constantly smiling, but there's more. I know that now. I wish that I will come to become tender without fearing rejection, someday.
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Thank you. 2024, here you are. Show the way. I will lead, obviously.
-Audrey
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back to my future.
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I wrote this in 2016 : I don’t want to apologize. 
I try this thing, you know, where you just try to not expect anything from anyone. Let’s face it, when you come to some point, it’s complete bullshit.
I shouldn’t apologize.
I’m fierce, and I love myself (oh, my bad!), but when it comes to my social relationships (meaning out of my relatives ones), they call me mature, respectful, and thoughtful even. I’m not the best, for sure. But I’ve come a long way, and I had my lots of disappointments, so why the hell should I tame myself ; my fire, my light, my inner strength. Why should I go in this dark corner as you please, and suffocate inside?
I can’t apologize.
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Life taught me many, many things, and what comes out of it is that you got to set the world on fire, no matter what. I haven’t been there and suffered from unfair stupid people to just stand in some bloody corner, and not let myself be heard.
This is not okay. But I’m listening, always do, and even if I didn’t nod hearing your reasons, I still heard them. I’m completely thrown off by your stupidity and I can’t agree, but I hear you.
I should apologize. 
Because it seems that I’m strong and you’re weak, and you don’t have my iron will. Yeah, I really should say that I’m sorry. I know I can hold a grudge like no one, and that’s maybe the most stupid thing in all of this.
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And I wrote this today, in 2023 : holy fucking shit. 
I was seriously guilty tripping myself over someone (I can only guess who it was because I do not remember properly). It was a period of time where I graduated from a school full of bullies, I was starting therapy, and working on a relationship which I thought could be repaired.
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Probably the main thing that changed, that evolved was that I know that I will never, ever tame myself for anyone. No questions, no wonders, period. Some growth happened, but not in the way it was expected. I held myself in my own arms and just understood that it is alright to be sensitive, to have a depth of feelings wider that I ever thought I could be capable of. I dove into my own watery self, and almost a decade later, it made me shine even harder. 
Because I tried to give myself more room to explore, understand bits of myself which were not encouraged or seen, not even by I, it gave me a sort of gentleness. I sincerely wasn’t aware that I could be kind. 
And I still wouldn’t say that I’m kind as a main trait of my character, but I know that I can be when I want to. It feels stupid to write this but how true it is. How naive and childish and arrogant I can be. How demanding am I of my own soul. 
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Around 2018, I tried to shush myself. It became too much inside, a toxic pressure building for years, and I was like, “let’s try to not shine, not speak about yourself, to not be loud about what you want”. What a mistake. Maybe though, this one was needed. For four months, I held this behavior to please, have peace, not receive remarks. Guess what? I was still depicted as the bad guy, and verbally abused by some. I was in such pain, and inside, I became wild, like a wounded animal, doing what it would have to do in order to survive. For the first time in my life, I was reaching one of my limit. This is how I knew this road wasn’t for me. And I tried, you know. I guess I’m not a people pleaser, and neither good at pretending shit.
This is how I realized that I was not meant for what anyone would EVER expect of me, not even my owns tricky expectations. I am a sort of messy magnet for light and gratitude, yet I burn, selfish as it may be, and I’m not here to apologize for any of this. I’m a force and I’m fragile. This works both ways.
Although, let’s face it, do I still hold grudges like a fucking pro? Absolutely.
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I would even dare to say that I’m against forgiveness, and I know, it sounds silly, immature, ruthless. This is where I am today and I’m not going against this feeling because fuck you, babe. I don’t have to justify this at all. I think just most people forget that maybe, people who hurt like I did and keep on holding grudges are probably the most sensitive people of all. If not, then I’m just a dumb bitch and that’s okay too.
Back to the main meal, don’t carry too much guilt over your shoulders. Keep your stamina to carry better things such as love, empathy and some badassery. Not all villains wear cloaks, some might wear their heart on their sleeves as well. 
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“It takes guts be to gentle and kind.” The Smiths
-Audrey
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the realm’s delight.
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Rhaenyra.
How long has it been since I’ve fell in love with a character like I did with you? Your pain, your joy, your freedom and your fire. All of these things made you so unique and magnetic in a way that pushed me to be obsessed over House of the Dragon as a tv-show like I haven’t been in maybe a decade. 
WARNING : all spoilers. 
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‘Nyra, she embodies a moment of my life, she is a woman fighting the madness and the patriarchy but all the while owning who she wants to become. When Milly first appeared on my screen, her smille was blinding. The way she exhaled mischief and confidence bound me to her eternally in a way few characters ever did. No one wants to give her the throne when it begins, not even her own father but she asks him repeatedly through this first season, “if you want me to become your heir, fight for me”. Brave and Bold and Dragon. I love how she dares to ask for what she has been shamed for deserving, for what seems to be the toughest to ask. How humiliating it is but eventually she sees the bigger picture as she’s growing up and she goes for what she fucking deserves. 
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She is both a giver and a receiver. I love how it’s pretty well depicted all season long. She’s choosing her lovers, the father(s) of her sons, but she gives away bits of her that she will never get back for the throne. These intimates little things which are hidden and kind of broken in the name of duty and what’s supposedly right. Morally speaking. Yet she’s untamed and fucks who she bloody wants.
Speaking of fucking, a scene truly embodies to me the sense of womanhood which is so often overlooked or not understood. When Daemon took her to that brothel in that scene, he lit flames in her. Suddenly, it’s all heated touches and urgency and she truly burns with her own desire for the first time in her life. He slices her open with lust and ablaze sensations. And she does meet him halfway with a desire so wild that it does burn him. And from my perspective, that lack of control pisses him off. She is more than that young thing that he thinks he can bend to his will. She is a Dragon. So eventually he leaves her there, but guess what? She still wants to have sex, she needs to have that orgasm. You rarely see a woman allowing herself to seek pleasure that way, and to actually find another partner in the minute or so to pretty much finish what Daemon started. That is one of the most powerful thing I’ve ever seen through a screen.
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So, she finds our dear Cole. And she has sex with him. Following that episode, another pivotal moment happens. He asks her, “Run away with me, become my wife and leave this life” for two reasons, he loves her and he is not fully comfortable with the fact that he broke his vows by having sex with her, that royal hypocrite. And she basically says, “I’m sorry, I like you, but I won’t leave the throne and my crown for you”, because, man that is the Iron Throne, duh. He is shocked. Here lays of one of the most iconic line “You want me to be your whore?” and that is truly, to me, the greatest accomplishment of this show. It’s a role reversal. Kings, men in general, are known to have mistresses and that is normal and not really criticized, but when a woman does? She’s slut shamed. Rhaenyra will forever suffer of that (besides the fact that Laenor is not the actual father of her sons) but she sticks to her wants. She said no. And she’s my hero.
The way House of the Dragon painted patriarchy and that specific pressure on women, from Alicent and that feet moment, to Vaemond screaming “She is a whore!” as precious last words, are real. I found it interesting how women are discriminated by duty and yet sexualized through pleasure, mostly their own, or then their lack of pleasure in this show. Usually, women are super sexualized through the eyes of men, but here Rhaenyra seeks pleasure for herself instead of trying to please someone else. It’s major to me, all season long. And the parallel of divergent growth between Rhaenyra and Alicent is smart that way. Rhaenyra never pretended to pretend, they all knew she was taking what she decided that she deserved when Alicent let herself get choked by her father’s greed and the weight of giving heirs and what is morally good ; what is even more interesting is that she turns to religion to find comfort in all the uncomfortable decisions she took. Again, quite hypocrite in my opinion but it draws the prism of patriarcal values found in most religions.
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The suffering Rhaenyra goes through is kind of unbearable. She is selfish enough to protect what she deems to protect, and it’s taken away from her almost each time, Aemma, Alicent’s love, her innocence, Harwin, her father, Visenya, and most of all, Lucerys. That final frame in the last episode? Don’t get me started on how powerful it is. 
Daemon is the only constant in all of her losses. Daemon is hers from the first second they appear on screen together, and even she doesn’t have him right away, she never lets go, never stop loving him. She pursues and lives with the idea that they are meant to be together. Blood of my Blood. Incestuous ties apart, their relationship is beautiful. They earn each other. They support each other. They love.
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I strongly think (look how my humor is edgy) that we should take pride in our sins because they make us more empathic with whom are struggling with the same guilt. By owning your mistakes, you make sense out of them, and it’s the only way, to me, to grow into a better version of yourself. When Lucerys says to his mother “I’m not like you, I’m not perfect” it does embody the weight of all her choices. Emma D’Arcy acting in that sequence are phenomenal. They are the purest form of devotion and it underlines flawlessly what it took Rhaneryra to be where she is at that moment of her life.
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Rhaenys, as the Queen who Never was, went early on through the same misogyny as Rhaenyra. But she chooses to accept her fate and to play her part. I love the scene where ‘Nyra says “I will create a new order” and how Rhaenys scoffs and answers “Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the iron throne”, and well, ain’t that truth is our society as well?
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I will never be a son either. I can’t help but think how real this is. They make a burden out what is our greatest power. Womanhood is where truly lays the most creative form of all. Was it really that doomed from the start? Can’t women be deserving to be on that fucking throne? This might be a show about Dragons and Kings but this is in its essence a show about how women deserve more, if not all.
+ side note : I met Milly Alcock last month, and she is the cutest and so radiant! I was lucky enough to speak with her a few words and get her to sign one of my portrait of her as Rhaenyra. Lucky bitch indeed.
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Rhaenyra, in your spirit, I’ll allow myself to take things I want but not only the one which I need, but also the ones that I deserve. This is what this endless fight is about. I will try to create a new order and I won’t shy away from a little bit of blood, because I think I have the fire of the Dragon too. 
-Audrey
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la lettre de la culpabilité.
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un jour on m’a dit (short story) que tout à chacun a une problématique à régler dans la vie, et que la mienne c’était le poids de ma culpabilité. j’étais là, what? “c’est vraiment n’imp’ cette histoire!”.
cinq ans plus tard, je réalise que c’est vrai. et avant de commencer, il faut que vous sachiez une vérité absolue sur qui je suis : profondément optimiste. je vois le bien, cherche la grandeur dans le moindre de mes défauts, m’auto-tire vers haut si besoin, et n’abandonne quasiment jamais. pourtant, dans mon histoire qui s’inscrit dans une bien plus grande histoire, je porte en moi le poids de la culpabilité. 
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la culpabilité dont je parle en ce qui me concerne, est sous-jacente. je ne me réveille pas le matin en y pensant et me couche rarement avec elle également. cette culpabilité, je la prends comme une vérité, une que je ne peux ignorer si je veux comprendre pourquoi la société est validiste, et les mentalités si étroites et hypocrites. c’est un constat, c’est l’ignorance.
un jour, j’ai été invincible, puis j’ai accepté ma sensibilité ; et mon empathie, tel un tsunami, a tout balayé sur son passage. mon armure s’est fissurée et j’ai vu une réalité qui était là, mais j’ai quand même choisi de me choisir et là gis la forme de culpabilité la plus palpable que je puisse ressentir. la mienne. malgré les injustices, les commentaires, les difficultés, la place que j’ai pris et que je prends, malgré la façon dont les médias ont invisibilisé les “plus vulnérables” pendant la pandémie, je me suis choisie.
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mon existence elle-même peut se résumer à une forme de culpabilité. il y a toute sorte de termes, mots, expressions pour décrire ce qu’est une personne handicapée. déjà, “handicapé” n’est pas un gros mot. mais utilisé de façon péjorative, ça le devient. une fois, un prof en BTS m’a dit que j’étais un handicap pour les autres (personnes de ma classe). je me suis dit, il n’a rien compris. mais pourtant, de nombreuses personnes pensent cela. cela s’inscrit dans le schéma de la dépendance, de la pseudo bien-pensance qui cache l’égoïsme des uns et des autres ; en gros c’est ça une société validiste. par définition, c’est à moi de m’adapter à la société et pas à elle de s’adapter à moi (pourquoi s’emmerder pour une minorité, right?). mais bon, je suis flexible, et pour la plupart je ne vous en veux pas de ne pas vouloir m’aider si c’est ce que vous pensez. mais pour moi l’impardonnable, c’est de recevoir ce type de commentaire des personnes qui prétendent le contraire. 
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la culpabilité d’exister, d’être un fardeau sociétal qui existe et démonte tout sur son passage façon harley quinn. je n’étais pas supposée être là et pourtant contre toute attente, j’ai transcendé. en ce qui concerne le handicap, il y a deux axes opposés l’un de l’autre mais dont j’ai une pleine conscience : on peut-être un moodboard inspirational, une leçon de vie parce qu’on persiste en gros, rien qu’à ma vue certains auront bonne conscience “elle est mignonne la petite en chariot!” (d’ailleurs il est temps d’arrêter avec les chariots et caddies, c’est un fauteuil roulant, merde!), et à l’autre extrémité il y a les personnes qui à l’heure actuelle pensent que les handicapés sont des privilégiés, et puis n’omettons pas les bons vieux clips de propagandes nazis qui expliquent combien une personne vivant avec un handicap coûte à la nation et pourquoi il vaut mieux les castrer et/ou les envoyer dans des camps. je n’oublie pas. 
rien n’est acquis. mes droits. et ça c’est personnel, mais je ne pardonne pas, et c’est bien plus profond qu’une page de l’histoire putride. si l’humanité en a été capable, et avec la montée du fascisme actuelle, l’injustice est loi. alors je n’oublie pas pour tout ceux qui ont déjà oublié.
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la culpabilité subite d’avoir à entendre que ma dépendance me rend soit-disant redevable (faux) et que pourtant, je ne peux nier le fait que j’ai besoin physiquement de personnes pour m’aider. je n’ai pas choisi. cette vérité simple devrait inhiber tout le reste, et pourtant ça me blesse là où ça ne devrait pas. je n’ai jamais fait la guerre à mon handicap, et ça devrait être everything.  j’ai accepté mon corps sans même me poser la question ou un vulgaire “et si?”, ma différence, mon chemin sinueux que j’ai rendu lumineux et excitant. pourquoi dois-je entendre ça. alors que j’ai fait tellement pour ne pas devenir le monstre de Fin de Partie de Beckett. je ne peux pas pardonner les personnes qui me font me sentir être moins que ce que je ne suis. 
la culpabilité de savoir qui je suis alors que la majorité ne savent pas qui ils sont, de devoir être le soleil pour qu’ils sachent où se positionner et de ne pas leur faire trop d’ombre.
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la culpabilité d’être trop pour ceux qui se ne sentent pas assez. parce que le fond du problème, c’est que je suis trop. trop lumineuse, trop animée de vie, trop chiante, trop obsédée, trop passionnée, trop rancunière... trop. et même à travers cette pensée, je pourrais me sentir coupable de ne pas vouloir pardonner, mais je ne peux pas. je ne veux pas.
la culpabilité de ne pas pouvoir parler de cette culpabilité, parce que c’est probablement trop autocentré et narcissique, parce que ça serait plus simple de dire autre chose, de s’excuser, de plier, de demander de l’amour. pour être honnête jusqu’au bout, j’ai toujours préféré le respect. 
c’est sûrement mon plus grand pêché.
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alors maintenant que j’ai posé tout ça, qu’est-ce qu’on fait? je devrais probablement remettre ce post dans mes brouillons et le laisser là parce que c’est un poil embarrassant. écrire, pour le coup est une chose pour laquelle je ne me sens “pas assez” mais le besoin est présent, net, et incisif. alors j’essaie, je prends un risque. la culpabilité fait partie de mon héritage, c’est un constat. le monde dans lequel j’évolue depuis 1992 m’a démontré plus souvent qu’il ne voulait pas de moi que l’inverse. mais je suis en vie, profondément optimiste des choses à accomplir et à créer. je pourrais me dire tout sorte de choses, comme par exemple que cette culpabilité est justifiée. mais non. elle me nourrit pour plus que personne n’ait à la ressentir (oui, ça c’est peut-être utopique). alors, est-ce que j’oublie? non. est-ce que je prie? non plus. est-ce que j’essaie? tous les putains de jours. 
-Audrey
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this bad girl got published on @vogueitalia-blog online and it blows my bloody mind!!!! this is what representation is ABOUT. @vogue
i’m on fire. 🔥🔥🔥  by Camila Garcia. 
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you’re my world, you’re every move i make.
This is the story of a girl who’s chasing a past she never lived yet, almost broken-hearted.
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Yesterday, I saw Last Night in Soho, and it left me feeling strange, hopeful, and with a sense of déjà-vu. Alexandra Collins went through believing that she could do whatever she ever dreamt of to getting cheated on in the ugliest way. She saved herself. I understand her and I do not understand why. 
I’ve never been more beautiful than I am these days, and I still want it all. Last month I did a photoshoot inspired by the seventies and its glamour and it was like travelling in the past. How can I feel nostalgia for a decade I’ve never lived? My eyes, they never lie, and when I see the photos, I know that I am more me than ever I’ve ever been, as if I knew it. And as I’m writing this, I’m confused, am I speaking about the movie or am I speaking about the fantasy I’ve had ever since that I was a little kid? 
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Maybe that’s the disability thing, maybe that’s the old-kind-of-soul trope after reading Fitzgerald or Austen but honestly, the late sixties always felt like I could have a chance to belong. It doesn’t stop me though, it never will, and I am blooming into the woman I am and it’s precious and romantic. The music flooding into a never ending dance, and how everything seemed possible and free. After two WW, nothing could stop anyone’s creative hunger. Everybody could have a chance to become who they are and dream, bigger than everything (darling). If my words could convey the way it’s calling me, how it makes my stomach sing and my eyes starstruck! I wish I could have felt that freedom and that vibrant lust for life. Maybe I had. The current era we’re living will make me, I don’t doubt it a single second, but my romantic side craves the past.
At the same time, what’s in the past is in the past, I don’t look back and barely hold the word regret in my vocabulary. But as an artist, and as a young woman, I just can’t help but feel the way the satin kisses my shape and the way eyeliner make my eyes become killers. I can’t help but embrace the fantasy that I was born too late or feel connected to what might have been, once upon a time.
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Even the violence seems too familiar. Alexandra, just like Eloise did, I wish I could have told you “I understand” because I wish someone would do the same for me. Women who go for it, who are bold, and witty, shameless and talented, I love you.  
All these night where I dreamt of (and will probably keep on dreaming on) untold stories like they were holy secrets, with awe and romance, and gut wrenching accomplishments. I’ve lived these moments but were they mine? And I took them for what they are, precious hours that the universe gave me, and in return I kept the love, pain and smiles close to my soul, to never forget. 
This is my love letter to the person I could have been in the past and who kept going after everything that happened to her. You are who you are and it’s vivid in my mind as if we’re one and maybe, you could have used a friend or a savior. I know it doesn’t stop you from saving yourself, no matter what. You’re too much. You got the thrill life needs for and you don’t take no for an answer. Drugs didn’t kill you and weapons neither, even if it does hurt. They look at you as if they think they know but they don’t know shit. You dress in colors and have magnetic eyes and it’s how you convey the truth. The cupid bow of your lips. You fell in love with a city and it doesn't change a thing, in the best and in the worst, but you keep going. And you live as if you had nothing to lose, I admire you for that so fucking much. Your heart might be broken but you know how to put it back together to try again. And you’re beautiful, so bloody beautiful. You’re a part of me and a part of who I might have been once, somewhere, someday in the long forgotten past. But I’m emotional and feeling like we already met. Is it possible?
-Audrey
nb : Thank you Edgar Wright for the kaleidoscope trip. 
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hellos and goodbyes.
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These days, writing is all about gut wrenching pieces and I guess it is what it is. I feel like there’s something I should have done a long time ago, which is saying goodbyes to people who left me. Losing friends is part of the process called “life” and I played the game, being a good soldier and all. But for the past two months, it’s been clear that I am currently at one of the major crossroad of my life, and I think it’s time for me to let go and say goodbye to some. Here we go.
M- you supported me when I was having one of the toughest, most miserable minutes of my life. I remember the great laughs we had, how for almost two years we sent each others incredible exchanges through whatsapp, and how we had crushes on the same actors. You are one of the persons that I had the most fun with, and I genuinely thought I didn't expect anything from you. But when we were supposed to meet for real, you didn’t show up, and the few faith or trust I had left crumbled down because you were there, each nights, until you weren’t. No explanations except that time healed that wound and I hope you’re happy, whoever you are today. 
M- god, you were my best-friend. I thought we were the same, being aries and bold like that. The minute you took off to NY, you literally flew from my life. I wasn’t being honest with myself thinking it was alright before you left. But the distance made it obvious. Now, you’re building a family and you’re still vibrant, beautiful. I’m not angry anymore. It’s just sometimes, I wonder why I ever thought we were the same, because we are not. Definitely not. I guess I’m still fucking naive and loyal to the ones I trust, which are few. We are both stubborn assholes. We just took different roads, and I don’t regret a single thing, even being your best-friend for a decade, even if it means that I was alone.
B- you’re the definition of a troubled girl. I never judged you and I still don’t. Something must have happened, something out of my fucking control, and you decided to suddenly never ever talk to me again. We had fun, and we grew to be better versions of ourselves together, I believe. I hope you find what you are looking for your heart in South America or wherever you feel like you want to explore. B, if you ever read this, trust me, you’ll be happy and free. Never stop believing that the better is yet to come. I’ll believe it for you if you can’t.
E- i thought you were my soulmate. I’m stupid like that. And I think you broke me a little bit. My therapist said that the text you sent me, my emotional answer to it, it was a sort of break-up. You were the only damn person I thought with utterly confidence that I would attend the wedding of, hold your baby one day or just be friends forever. I respected you the hardest. I loved you so much, because you were always there in a miles away kind of logic, but still. You knew my shit. You quoted me Charles Xavier ou Tyrion Lannister when I was feeling down. You loved ART and always had the most classy sense of everything. Then, suddenly, you’re not here anymore. Would I not have a sense of my worth and my dignity, I don’t know... I’m a fucking queen. I’m royalty. Maybe I saw a lie where I wanted to see respect, or a meaningful friendship. I don’t know anymore the value about what we had, but for sure I know my own value. I think that kind of way, I’ll forever miss you. It’s new for me, to feel that way about someone. But I’ll learn and I’ll grow, and this is my goodbye to you.
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Now it’s written, I can emotionally move on. I did move on, don’t get me wrong. I feel like Robyn from High Fidelity! I did not make a playlist about them though so I guess it’s alright. But all these people did not let me have actual conversations to ask whys and hows. So this is how I break the wheel and fucking do my thing. 
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-Audrey
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Don’t do it, Audrey, don’t!!!
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Parfois, tu vrilles. Enfin, je vrille.
Personne ne pense à ce que ça fait de demander de l’aide à quelqu’un alors que cette dîtes personne vous sort par les trous de nez. 
Certes, il est aussi vrai que demander de l’aide est un acte courageux, d’être aussi vulnérable émotionnellement que physiquement et d’y aller quoi. Je demande de l’aide pour des “services” tous les jours de ma vie. C’est OK, je l’ai accepté depuis le day one, et puis je considère ça normal, parce que je me considère comme l’égal des personnes à qui je demande de l’aide. Il n’y pas de honte à ça, même si je sais que la ligne à traverser pour se sentir inférieure à la personne à qui on demande de l’aide est très fine.
Donc. J’ai vrillé, ou plutôt je suis entrain de vriller. Sûrement que tout ce que j’écris maintenant n’a d’intérêt pour personnes, excepté les personnes qui sont dans la situation que moi. Je m’en fous. Franchement, pour une fois depuis très fort longtemps, je me fous de tout. Et ça fait bizarre!
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Pour ceux qui me connaissent, vous savez que j’ai une personnalité, un petit caractère de bélier bien trempé, et que je sais me défendre si besoin est. Mais, malgré tout, mon handicap me fait tempérer mes ardeurs au quotidien parce que : dépendance physique, parce que vie en communauté, parce que si tu dis tout le temps ce que tu penses, ça peut être mal perçu. Bref. Aujourd’hui on est à J-2 avant Noël et franchement, ça suffit. 
Audrey doit-être souriante mais bon ne doit pas trop parler, sinon elle prend la lumière et ça en frustre certains. Audrey doit avoir des projets, mais pas flous sinon Audrey n’est pas organisée, mais si Audrey donne des détails trop précis, Audrey n’est pas réaliste. “Redescend, tu te prends pour qui?” on dira à Audrey très souvent lorsque le manque d’arguments se fait sentir dans la partie adverse. Audrey doit-être précise dans ses besoins (”C’est un besoin ou une demande? Parce que c’est pas la même chose Audrey, l’un est superficiel et peut donc attendre.”) mais si elle l’est trop, Audrey est “exigeante”. 
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La vérité que je pense c’est que je suis plus proche d’être un démon qu’une sainte. Jamais je ne prétendrai avoir un altruisme ou une gentillesse particulière.  Je suis une force de frappe, un missile qui peut vous atteindre à tout moment. Les gens qui m’aiment le savent. Est-ce que ça fait de moi “une dictatrice”? Pour exprimer ce dont j’ai besoin ou envie, d’être directe? Ce qui est drôle c’est que je ne dis quasiment jamais d’insultes, mais depuis hier j’en ai dit trois et c’est tout ce que l’on retiendra de ces conflits. 
Personne ne s’excusera, ne prendra en compte ma peine, l’humiliation que ça me coûte de faire semblant (en plus je ne sais pas le faire) pour demander d’aller au toilettes ou qu’on m’ouvre un flacon d’encre, ou bien qu’on me lime mes ongles.
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Je me dis que je suis exceptionnelle parce que malgré tout ça, je crois sincèrement que je vais réaliser des choses grandes. Je crois en moi de la façon la plus intime qu’il soit. Mes actions sont dirigées par la notion de plaisir, pour moi et pour les autres. Je n’ai jamais eu besoin de rabaisser quelqu’un pour me sentir mieux, et j’ai d’ailleurs du mépris pour les gens qui font ça. Je comprends mes défauts mais je suis aussi la première à me jeter la pierre. Tant de personnes ont peur, ne peuvent pas s’exprimer, alors moi j’ai de la chance de pouvoir articuler mes idées, de m’exprimer, quand ça va et quand ça va pas. C’est un privilège. 
Je vais continuer à me nourrir des esprits brillants que je rencontre, des auteurs qui racontent leurs génies, des peintres qui peignent leurs rêves, des réalisateurs qui partagent un souvenir de leurs vies, et des musiciens qui jouent la mélodie qui vient de leurs âmes. 
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Alors dans deux jours c’est Noël, et on ouvrira nos cadeaux et on fera “comme si” pour continuer. Sûrement que ma colère se sera effacée d’ici là. Tant mieux, la colère ne me réussi pas. Tout ça n’est pas une contradiction. J’ai toujours pensé qu’il y avait un prix à payer pour être qui je suis, pour avoir cette force, innée, et d’être consciente du pouvoir que j’ai, de ne pas avoir honte d’être moi-même, sans avoir besoin de regarder en arrière. Certains penseront au handicap mais ils se trompent. Mes actes sont plus humbles parce que je suis née différente, non que cela justifie quoique ce soit. On ne peut pas choisir ce genre de chose. Mais on peut choisir où on va, pourquoi on y va et comment on va y faire face. 
Watch me, bitches. 
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audrey.
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a little loss of innocence, the ugliness of being a fool.
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I want to write something heartfelt, something that would explode all over your face like silly dots of glitters, even if it’s all my pain under that glimmer. Truth is that I’ve been hurt by someone who I loved, someone that I thought was a friend, a forever soulmate kind of friend, and that is, probably, one of the greatest disappointment of my life. I just know it because even if the hurt aches a little less today, I had faith in that relationship, and now it’s over.
There is so much to say, or maybe so little left to be said? I can’t pick right now. My strength seems to blind people from the rest of me, and it makes me feel like the loneliest. My forever curse. I should be used to that, and truth is that I am when it makes me writing like I’m doing tonight. Love is endless when you feel it and so is loneliness. I wish I could be a person who seems soft and kindhearted instead of driven and vibrant. Fuck, it’s a lie, I still want it all and it’s costing me a lot but it’s there, tangible and alive in my core. It’s just that soft would seem to make me more lovable instead of this, but fuck you. I’m so much more than what you left. I’m the salt melting in the Oceans and the spark calling for the fire to begin with. 
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What is there to say, is, everything. When I was a little girl, I knew I was different, and didn’t care. I knew I would never walk, kick or dance standing tall. I knew nothing, and yet, knew everything. That moment when you’re deep in what seems closing a chapter of your life, is when you look back for a minute, and see, like really see. I was the happiest and carefree, painting, playing and singing. Now, it’s all a bit blurred but I’m still here, and creating a bigger piece which I never thought would be fitting in that puzzle. Who would have thought I could do some amazing shit like that? Who would have thought I could be wise, a great listener and a kind heart? Maybe my grandfather. I miss his Scorpio character. He told me the kindest things. He even offered me a birthday card full of glitters once. I love you. I miss you.
What happens is that you grow, and if you do it right, hurt. It’s as plain as this. It’s fucking unfair and painful but it’s real. I want it all so it means that I will do a life which fits me the best and not anyone’s else. Disability or not, I’m committed to myself above anything else, except maybe my arts. This, I might sacrifice bits of my heart for, but it’s the only exception. I’m trying to believe that but I’m naive, so who knows. I’m too good in being the believer, the leader and the ruler that any others options seem off and excluded. My energies are merging to the surface and it’s risky but it’s also human. I believe now that my vulnerability is here to be shared and connected with empathy and great purpose. I’m trying my best, I really am.
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So instead, I would like to celebrate people who are here, and who says the things that make me find myself a little bit more, who makes me kinder, lighter, and freer. I’m lucky enough for having people around, even through the loneliness, they are here and it’s what matter as the sun set early when I’m still sleeping until 9 am and then waking up to theirs texts, bringing a smile to my face. I won’t name any of you because you know who you are. Some of you I met four months ago, some two years ago, others ten years ago. You have all been supportive of my crazy in sharing and loving this journey with me.
From the bottom of my madness, thank you. I hope to be as a great friend as the one you’ve been to me. I love you.
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to whoever need to hear this:
That’s completely OK to know that you fucked up and yet, kept going. There is nothing selfish about it. Life is all about pushing through and moving. So, you moved, and will move again. 
I’m full of flaws. I probably have hundreds of them, and god do I hate and love, and live in a state of fierce vulnerability which makes me see the world, in a very unique way. This is who I am and why the fuck should it be wrong? I don’t let feelings fuck with my life decisions. I pick what’s right and okay from an adult POV, sometimes. I protect myself, from what’s wrong and maybe could be right, because it’s safer. Feelings though, they’re the center of my artistic universe. This vision I pull outta me, and spread on mediums to share what I feel deep down my guts. Because it feels like that it’s all I know, what is true and real and useful. It’s why I started writing small texts and poetry too. 
We always depict vulnerability as a soft pink flower but it’s actually more like a rose flamboyant and surrounded by thorns. That’s so powerful. The thorns are not meant to hurt you but to protect you. And if someone tells you that you are a burden, too complicated or too tiring, let them feel your thorns. 
Know this: there’s always something that will bring out the fire in your eyes and the wrinkle around them. You’ll love again. Don’t hurt for them. There’s nothing wrong about who you are. Love for yourself first.
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“that’s not a chip on my shoulder. that’s your foot on my neck.”
-malcom x
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i’ve moved further than i thought i could but i missed you more than i thought i would 🖤
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quarantine feelings.
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People ask me constantly, “How are you doing? Isn’t that tough for you?” and I’m just like, “No, I’m good. Not much anxiety. Neither fear. I’m adapting and projecting in the future, and it’s okay actually, I mean, yeah.”, and that’s it.
Except it’s more complex. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful I’m not feeling particularly anxious or stressed, and I’m grateful to be able to write, paint, and actually work while this pandemic. I’m so fucking grateful. But there are things only me can feel and see and these things are wearing me out. To quote Lana “don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not but at best I can say I’m not sad”, and that’s real. To be dependent physically from others is difficult, even knowing that I always embraced my disability, wheelchair and all. I can adapt, because I know it’s key to survival. And I’m grateful to be with my family in these difficult times. But sometimes, it’s hard to be asking and asking and asking (from wanting to pee to change you shirt through the day because duh, it smells) and to be faced with people who are tired to constantly “help” you. 
“Asking” in itself is a very brave thing to do. For sure, I do not have the choice to ask for help to go on the toilets or to wash my hair, but in general, asking for help is going all against what society taught you to do. It’s a very individual society, and to be asking for help can make you seem like less, weak. It’s not. Asking for help is facing the fact that you tried very hard but need a hand to get up. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s great to know to your limits and see beyond the very classical “What do they think of me?” because, fuck them okay.
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A part of me truly understand how complicated it is for everyone. I know I’m one hell of a ride (and I don’t regret to be shamelessly who I am) and how scary and demanding having a disabled kid can be, though I’m not a kid anymore. Maybe that’s there, the blurred line which keeps everything a bit fucked up. I’m twenty eight, not eight. 
Disability or not, when you communicate and say that something hurt you, to people you care about, you bare yourself naked and expect, at least, consideration if not apologies (I’m such a dreamer, right?). And when all you receive is “You’re so fucking needy and touchy, get around yourself for once”, I can’t help to either blow a fucking fuse or shut down completely. Fuck off, I’m doing my best and to receive this is unacceptable. Because I fucking know my worth. Maybe, it’s here again a second line which this time, clears up the mist. 
There is this unspoken rule : if you let a relative or a friend speak to you like shit, then it’s game over. You’ll let anyone do that. 
I will never go there, because I don’t deserve it. I’m fucking brillant as much as I can be a fucking burden (I don’t think I am one, but my relatives sometimes can make me feel like one so, here we go) and if I’m here, twenty-something years later, it’s not to finish like a boring piece of furniture in the background.
Just the fact that I can spell this is maybe not okay. This probably makes me unlovable and coming on too headstrong and ambitious. But fuck you. I’m not here to play a game of “what if” when I can be all “so what?” and thrive. 
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All these things I hold in me are not very pretty and probably no one want to hear or read them, I get it. It’s just all so fucking lonely to know things and feel them and to try to make it better someway, on your own. I know we all do. Maybe this is that thought which pushed me to write this down today, after another fight and you know, maybe someone would understand. 
I tried to relate to people but each time, it was a fail. I had this best friend for around eleven years and then suddenly, she wasn’t there anymore. I felt stuck and anxious that I did something wrong. Maybe “I am truly too much” is a feeling always dancing around me. Then one year later, we talked and I just saw we never were the same, then I hated myself for seeing things for years which actually were never there. And this shit happened to me three times. The last time didn’t hurt at all, just a vague sense of disappointment. 
The wheelchair is me and I yet I am more than my wheels. I don’t picture myself in all my acts and doing as disabled person. I’m just a girl trying to make it, probably faking until I make it, and creating and seeking truths in everything.
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In eleven weeks of quarantine, I didn’t have a single assistant coming home to help me in my daily routine. It’s not that I only miss the people, but I really miss to seek help and to demand without someone making me feel like I’m too much or hard to please. I mean, yesterday I’ve just been called a hangman but if I ever say “Are you serious?”, I would have received something along the line “See, you can’t even take a joke.” and that stinks, because that’s not true. I’m full of humor and also empathy, I push myself to be a bit kinder and open towards others everyday, to have better values.
I think that I never cared until one day I truly did. I’m all black and white and it’s fucking exhausting. Truth is, if someone screw you, he’ll screw you twice. Period. Again, what else is there to say? 
Somedays I’m exhausted to be me. I’m tired to see everything, fitting or not in that giant puzzle which is life, and to be told to act or change when deep down I know I’m right. And fuck okay, I don’t want to be right! Despite being an Aries, I don’t have this competitive or “give me the last word” vibe. I really give zero fucks about it. If I win, I deserve it, and if I lose, then I learn. I don’t have the time for that shit. Though sometimes I’m right, and it’s tiring to see things so clearly that I’m like, whys and hows, but damn, can I just be stupid and reckless all over again?
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People who are harsh are not meant to be mean, and I know that. My empathic side made me learn the difference. Own your shit, be that bitch, and go on. I’m all over that journey. So when on the other side, someone tries to hurt me, my worth reminds me that I do not deserve it. What I call my worth, some might call it your ego, and trust me, this is a lie. They put bad meanings into nobles feelings, and there is nothing wrong with loving yourself, just enough to not let assholes bring you down. Never. 
I would finish by quoting Frida “At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can”, and that’s one of the truest thing ever. Does that make you less? No. Does that justify the abuse? No. Does that make you a strong motherfucker? No. It just makes you human and it reminds you that tomorrow is another chance to be you, shamelessly, and to be proud of your journey, whatever it is. Hold on, be this shooting star, this burning sun, this magnetic moon, this stormy sea or blue sky, just know that you belong even if you can’t see it. Personally, I can’t see it. I feel so lonely. But I believe in me and how far this life showed me that I could be extraordinary and inspired. 
Do not think less of yourself just because someone called you something that you’re not. Their fucking loss. 
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in no particular order :
Romeo + Juliet 1996
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Pocahontas 1995
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Rebel Without a Cause 1955
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Reservoir Dogs 1990
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Usual Suspects 1995
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Atonement 2007
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Troy 2004
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Public Enemies 2009
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The Way We Were 1973
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Bambi 1942
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Goodfellas 1990
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What are your favorite movies ever? 
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"you definitely have to be somewhat of a self-involved person to create anything. most creative people are pretty aware they are a little self-obsessed, but in order to f*cking have faith in yourself and make confident work, you have to be a little crazy and believe in yourself enough to just do it." 
-kristen stewart 
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it is that simple and it always was.
It seems like the demonic need to write and ramble is hitting me strongly (part one).
I decided to write about the scenes through pictures and tv-shows, made me melt, cry, and most of all, belong. Be ready for loads of nonsense.
The Little Mermaid, 1989.
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I remember watching this movie, again, again and again. The Little Mermaid is not only my favorite Disney, but I love how wild and impulsive is Ariel, even though now I know that at sixteen you’re just a child, but this! When she sings in that cave about that world she wants to be a part of, all the things she doesn’t know but wish she could try... This always brings tears to my heart because it was and still is, the unspoken truths I only dare to say myself. Sacred secrets that I know and yet, I won’t give up on them, just like Ariel. 
I want to be where the people are I want to see 'em dancin' Walkin' around on those, oh - feet!
La La Land, 2016.
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The very first time I watched this movie, was in January 2017. I remember the magic, but most of all, I remember crying. The whole movie was beautiful and when the audition came up, if I wasn't a wreck before, I definitely was after this scene. The lyrics hit me, and I just crumbled. This feeling was so pure and painful, and I hardly can put it into words. I think all the struggles I went through at that period of time, and all the doubts I had, they were facing me as I was facing the big screen. But I had hope, so much hope. I re-watch this part time to time, to remember that no matter what, there’s still Paris, the Seine and all the dreams left to make come true.
She told me A bit of madness is key To give us new colors to see Who knows where it will lead us? And that's why they need us
Bleed for This, 2016.
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Miles Teller did another incredible interpretation there. I think he’s one of the most underrated actor right now, and for some reason, the medias do not like him. But every movies I watched in which he plays, he’s really one of the great (wink-wink). This scene, the very last one of the picture, where he simply speaks his truth, hit me hard. It embodies one of the most natural and visceral idea in which I believe in : that’s that simple. Watch it and then get shit done, because that’s the only way. 
De Rouille et D’os, 2012.
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When I watched this movie, I was twenty. That’s the first actual movie with a person with a disability and a romance I could someway relate to. When she talks about consideration (in french, la délicatesse) it is relatable to me. When people touch me, they touch as if I am highly breakable and fragile, which I can be but still. What it convey through me is sterile. Ali, he’s rough and yet, tender. He is considerate when he’s with Steph but not in the sense he’s expected to be. She’s insecure yet stands her ground. She’s strong where he’s weak and vice-versa. I love their exchanges. I love their relationship. It’s all very subtle and not at all at the same time, and that’s what I probably love the most. 
A Single Man, 2010.
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This scene is perfect. This movie is so incredible. I recently watched it for the first time, and why the fuck did I wait so long?! Colin Firth is doing such a beautiful interpretation, and it’s all so warm and genuine. Then came Nicholas Hoult and how he lights up the screen is unbelievable. I especially loved this scene here where their words hang softly in the air, and it’s just pure beauty. Watch it and you will definitely be ready to fall in love with life all over again.
 “Who knows what you’re really like? I only see what I think you’re like.”
#audreytheartiste
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