look at the two of them. dressed to the nines. silks from france and cotton from egypt. chanel on them both. they’re at a party neither of them was invited to, but so damn good looking that no one in their right mind would turn them away at the door. the woman - titties free under that dress, scoping out women in salacious flapper dresses in gloves created from 100,000 insects’ life work. the man - smoking a cigarette he took out from the mouth of one of the millionaires at the party, saying nothing but giving him a slow smile and a wink. the flower in his lapel is fake. dying plants in your clothing is such a hideous fashion. the both of them haven’t spoken to anyone there, though everyone has tried. they stand on the stairs staring at the heterosexual proles gathered below them together, and the two of them wonder if those fools realize that they’re outclassed, that in every way, they’ve been outdone. they leave early with a bottle of champagne in each fist, and no one stops them.
This is the most extra analysis I have ever seen of anything ever and I agree with all of it
"I want to go to Italy – with you, Darling – It seems so yellow – dull, mellow yellow – and that’s your color – and I’d feel so like there was nobody else in existence but just you ‘n me-"
— Zelda Fitzgerald, from a letter to Francis Scott Fitzgerald, April 1919. (via xshayarsha)
always follow what raises your vibration. anything that sets your soul on fire, makes you excited and gives you those goosebumps is in alignment with your higher self. that is your destiny, everything else will fall into place after