Melissa

Looking for the sweetest peaches //

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[24hoursinthelifeofawoman]

Twiggy 1967 Photo Richard Avedon Twiggy, coat by Emeric Partos, paint by Giorgio Sant’ Angelo, New York, April 14, 1967 Avedon Foundation

[haunted-melancholy]

[sixpenceee]

[be-artistic-deactivated20230306]

[natgeofound]

Sailors wearing raingear sit in a sailboat’s cockpit awaiting dawn in the West Indies, October 1966.Photograph by Winfield Parks, National Geographic

[clem-style-deactivated20191229]

[humansofnewyork]

“I knew immediately.  I get a breast exam every year, so I know what normal is supposed to look like.  I could see the tumor on the screen.  It was messy.  It was black.  But I didn’t feel shocked.  I was calm.  My surgery was scheduled for Valentine’s Day.  And you know what?  That was the most beautiful Valentine’s Day of my life.  Because I spent it taking care of myself.  I had a difficult childhood.  Then I had a very hard love story that lasted for twenty years.  And when that came to an end, I escaped into my work.  I was like a hamster in a wheel: faster, faster, faster.  It was easy to rationalize because I work in Women’s Rights.  I felt involved in something bigger than myself.  But I just wrote reports about the situation.  Honestly I changed myself much more than the country.  I was worn down.  I had no free time.  And my children are grown, so I was wondering if I had any reason to live anymore.  Then four months ago the cancer came.  It was a blessing in a shitty package.  It was something I couldn’t control.  And I was forced to accept that.  Right now I’m not doing anything.  I’m visiting with friends.  I’m taking time to relax.  I’m feeling grateful.  And I’m asking myself big questions: ‘Where would I like to live?’  ‘What would I like to do?’  Questions I never had the time to ask.  But most importantly I’m taking care of myself.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my massage appointment.” (Paris, France)

[humansofnewyork]

“My mother got blood cancer seven years ago.  But she recovered, and we had five more years after that.  Those years were the happiest moments of our lives.  We never knew how much time we had left, but we knew it was limited.  We’d always been best friends.  I told her my secrets.  She gave me advice.  She cooked for me like I was still a child.  But before the cancer, things were so casual.  She was always around.  Nothing seemed important.  She was strong.  She was independent.  She didn’t seem to need attention.  But when she was given a new life, I cherished her more.  I became nicer.  Softer.  More sensitive to her needs.  We started hugging.  We hadn’t hugged since childhood, but we started hugging.  I can be difficult sometimes.  I’m stubborn.  I don’t agree easily.  But she never had to convince me again.  I took her to restaurants, movies, weddings.  I found her artificial hair so she looked beautiful again.  I sewed her the best dresses ever.  I wanted to make her new life comfortable.  And it was.  It was the happiest she’s ever been.  Eventually the cancer came back.  It’s been over two years since she passed.  For the longest time I cried like a baby.  In the office.  In the car.  At church.  She was my best friend.  The world feels empty without her.  Even last night I dreamed about her.  But I know I must move on.  I still think about her all the time.  But now I don’t always cry.  Sometimes I smile.” (Paris, France)

[rihanna-infinity]

Guava Island

[ana-elisabeta]

[2gris]

[kissedbythevoid]

https://www.instagram.com/p/BmJT3AQHfwm/

[humansofnewyork]

“I’ve worked all my life as an office clerk.  But when I was young I dreamed of being an important writer.  I won some prizes in my town.  But mainly I used writing as a weapon, because I was completely in love with a girl who liked reading.  At the time she was dating another boy in class who played basketball.  He was popular.  Quite a bit taller than me.  Eventually he went on to play for the national team.  And I was so shy.  I could barely speak to her.  At the end of the year I wrote her a long letter declaring my love.  She broke up with the basketball player over the summer, and when I returned to school the following year, she’d written ‘Yes’ on my desk.  Everything changed.  The world had light and color.  There was no more rain.  We’d go walking in the town center.  We went dancing.  But when Christmas came around, she told me she needed to talk.  She was getting back together with the basketball player.  So I played all my cards.  I wrote a short story.  It was about two soldiers competing for a woman’s love.  One of them was a powerful lieutenant.  The other was a simple soldier, who loved her more and later died in battle.  When I finished I asked her to read it.  She told me it was very nice, then married the basketball player.”   (Madrid, Spain)

[the-bookshop]

Source.

[forafricans]

A young Sudanese woman leads a crowd in protest against President Omar al-Bashir. Khartoum, Sudan. ©Lana Haroun

[mandronia]