Why do we tend to be ashamed of ourselves, when there’s no reason?

Don’t blame yourself for something which was out of your hands.

Don’t blame yourself for the hurt someone caused you.

Don’t feel any shame when you speak your mind.

Don’t feel any shame when you tell someone you love them.

Don’t feel like anyone’s better than you.

Don’t pretend to be anyone you’re not.

Why be ashamed when you are gifted. Why be ashamed when you listen to your heart.

Shame is a prison you need to escape.

You are beautiful.

Show yourself to the world.

———

We could all use a little reminder.

Time to be who you are.

Froe ♥

]]> http://heartsunbroken.wordpress.com/2012/01/27/shame/feed/ 2 Froe shame http://heartsunbroken.wordpress.com/2012/01/01/his-heart-ran-slow-motion/ http://heartsunbroken.wordpress.com/2012/01/01/his-heart-ran-slow-motion/#comments Sun, 01 Jan 2012 19:28:53 +0000 Froe http://heartsunbroken.wordpress.com/?p=1505 ]]>

What should remain when we turn over the page of another decade, are the fresh lines in our faces, the happiness which drew wrinkles in our skin. Beauty never really fades, it just looks different when we age.

The man sitting near the station hall entrance had many lines in his face, but they were the wrong ones. They were too deep, too blunt. Sadness had battled a war upon his skin. His eyes like cripple veterans, spotting betrayal behind every face passing by.

It’s not easy when no one remembers who you once were.

He lowers his head, trying to erase every “what if…?” from his mind.

“What if I was still famous?”

Erase.

“What’s if I hadn’t started drinking?”

Erase.

“What if I had fallen in love?”

Perhaps he had. He just hadn’t understood what it meant at the time.

He briefly touched his hat with one hand, a meaningless gesture, fighting this burdensome room which was too big to find answers in. No matter how much he tried to fight it, sadness was reloading its guns.

When did this happen? It feels like it was only yesterday everybody knew his name, wanted to touch his hand, loved the sound of his voice. Now the star had faded into a black hole. This wasn’t his place to be, the anonymity clinging to his overcoat.

He knew exactly how it happened. The empty bottles his accomplices. The glamorous life was just a synonym for his addiction. Fame was a fantasy he couldn’t keep running from. If you needed alcohol and egoism to function, if you forgot your lines and misbehaved in front of the cameras, if you forget the true meaning of what you were doing, you knew you had it coming.

His eyes wandered past a girl about his age. She looked so young compared to him. He felt and perhaps looked, like an old man.

It felt rough recalling how many women had promised him they loved him and would love him always. They were nowhere to be seen. They had only loved the thought of him.

Slowly, he got up from his seat. Some heads turned, there was still something delicately elegant about him. You could sense that spark deep inside of him and you wanted to make sure not to miss it. Then you’d quickly look away as the soldiers in his eyes begged you for recognition.

Here he was, looking for something that was long gone. The future ahead of him consisting of spending the night all alone, once again. No knocks on the door. No premieres. No fancy parties.

No love.

He felt the urge to clamp someone’s arm, ask what it meant to love. It would feel so good to stomp his feet, to scream, to be like a toddler knowing nothing about the world and waiting to be guided.

Paralysed by the confusion battering against the inside of his skull, he leaned against one of the thick walls and tried to focus on the outer world, just to cut off the inner one.

He saw a woman rushing into the arms of a man.

She had tears in her lovely, blue eyes and no worries in her smile. It struck him deeply, this honest portrayal of having missed someone. That moment of pure thankfulness and disbelief. Finally together again.

His heart ran slow motion. This little picture right in front of his eyes was the perception of his deepest longing, his deepest need. To be missed, to be wanted, to be loved beyond anything.

Maybe that’s what he really needed. Not the crowd but the individual. Not the distance but the closeness. Not this longing to go back to days where he was admired for his career. This moment in his life shouldn’t necessarily be filled with grief. Perhaps life had been kind to him. This could be a second chance.

“What if I fall in love?” he whispered to himself as he straightened his figure, rearranging his hat and coat.

A sober smile crept past his lips and although no one might have noticed it, he sure felt it. From now on, that was the only thing that mattered.

Not what the world, but what his heart had to say.

☆✿ ☆✿☆✿ ☆✿·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●✿✿.｡.:* ☆:* ✿ *:☆*.:｡.✿✿●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠·✿

Darlings!

First of all…Happy newyear!It’s been a wonderful year and I’m sure a lot more enjoyable moments are coming our way. Thank you so much to you, my readers, for reading my pieces and showing your appreciation ♥ I love you all.

About this piece…I got inspired by watching Chaplin’s movie “Limelight”. I think it’s an exquisite movie…wonderful lines, soulful plot and just one of those movies that fills your heart with this warm, fuzzy feeling. I hope you enjoyed reading this. I somehow feel very connected to this theme.  ♥

If you’d like, you can read the previous chapters here: chapter 1, chapter 2 

He seemed to have chosen his words so carefully, his graceful face not showing any emotion. It made me wonder how someone could be that charming when insulting the person that wanted nothing but to help him.

I would later despise him for seeing right through me from the very beginning. He knew I wasn’t just a helping hand. His ability to understand the things I tried to mask so well was so confronting it sometimes scared me. I couldn’t even hide within myself anymore, he would somehow crawl in and drag me out.

Somehow, I wanted him to leave in such a hurry I would soon forget he had even been here. Perhaps things that happened overnight didn’t really count as reality when daybreak had come. It would be a simple thing to return to the emptiness of my days, if it wasn’t for that face I just couldn’t tear my eyes from. I could have thrown him out myself if he hadn’t looked at me in that one particular way.

Something velvet in that look. A softness that didn’t quite match the hard lines of his lips, the words he had just spoken. I realised they meant nothing. His eyes were the only ones talking to me.

“Stay,” I wasn’t asking or offering, I was begging at this point.

He cocked his head to the side, his eyes leaving mine, settling on the floor. He seemed to be in deep contemplation as I relaxed by how anonymous I felt now he was no longer looking at me. Only now I could see those slumped shoulders again, his polite dressing sense, the fact he looked like he had just stepped out of a dusty history book, one no one had opened for decades.

“I was rude,” he said, a sigh twirling around his words.

“You were honest,” I said, stepping closer to him.

My hands were eager to touch him, just to see if he wasn’t a contour of my mind.

“Joseph,” I pronounced his name with care.

He lifted his head up again and nearly bumped into my invasion of his privacy. I was standing so close to him it made him uncomfortable, I could tell. Then grace took over his features again and he almost looked like he would smile.

“Please stay.”

—

I have bad dreams at night. They roll over me, knock me down. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be able to get up in the morning with their weight pushing down on me. It’s like the past catches up with me in my sleep.

But not this time.

His hands soothe the fears deep down. I don’t want to fall asleep, don’t want to let go of what he offers. I can feel him shivering, lying on top of the duvet whilst I’m underneath it. His fingers laced through my hair, knees pulled up against his chest.

We’re shy. We feel embarrassed. We don’t understand why but we need to be close. He’s so descent and I’m so fragile, so we lie here like he’s about to leave when we’re really just afraid to get too close to one another.

“You shouldn’t be afraid,” he says, words light like feathers.

I wonder if guardian angels ever descend from their homes up in the clouds when we need them most.

“I don’t know you,’ I try to defend myself against my own stupidity.

“Neither do I.” I think he’s smiling.

—

The knock on the door startles me, as I drops my hair ribbon on the floor, my reflexion in the mirror holding up her hair with one hand, giving me a foul look. I’m not sure if Joseph heard, he’s sitting near the window playing with my Ipod, which makes me wonder whether he’ll run out of my door once he finds my collection of boy band songs or just laugh at me. He seems entranced for now, so I’m guessing he’s listening to something he likes. Lucky me.

I could have guessed my sister was the only person alive who would remember today was my birthday and actually bother to drop by.

“Darrrling!” she would have been a perfect cabaret dancer.

I’m not really looking at her as she walks in, nor am I listening to what she says. I’m too busy trying to make up excuses for that gorgeous man in the strange clothes with the baby pink Ipod sitting on my sofa. I notice her scrunching her nose as I stare at Joseph.

“Are you high?” her laughter jolting along the room.

I was beginning to think her rude for not even saying hi to him and making that mean remark. As if I couldn’t bring a man home. I would even have flipped my hair back like girls do when they feel a rant bubbling up in their throats, but Joseph’s sudden gloomy eyes struck me like a bullet from a gun that wasn’t supposed to go off.

“What on earth are you staring at?” my sister dips her head like a pigeon as she walks right over to where he’s sitting, trying to look for answers in the air.

My mouth runs dry with the truth as I see her picking up my little music box from Joseph’s lap, as if he wasn’t even there. He’s silent but I can hear him, like a whisper afraid to be heard. I can see him, sense him, but a tingle at the very beginning of my spine causes me to believe I might just be the only one.

☆✿ ☆✿☆✿ ☆✿·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●✿✿.｡.:* ☆:* ✿ *:☆*.:｡.✿✿●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠·✿

Dum de dummmm!

I hope you like where I’m taking this you guys…*smiles* I’m excited!Please comment, it makes my heart flutter!♥

Froe x

The warmth of her smile touches me every time. I need to sit down, catch my breath and wonder how someone could be this beautiful.

The intimacy between us, it’s in these little details of our daily life . The funny, not-of-this-earth sound she makes when she gets cold and cuddles up to me in bed. The way her hair falls in her face when she unties her shoe laces followed by her swearing like a dude. The puppy she brought home when the landlord told us it was absolutely forbidden to keep anything furry and noisy in the house.

“A puppy?” I nearly choked on my cereals.

“You had rather it was a baby?” she had replied with a smug expression on her face.

She always won.

So strange yet easy to love someone so deeply you’d give up on yourself. It’s like she broke every bone in my body when we first met and she’s slowly been building me up again, the same pieces yet a different man. Now I believe I’ll fall apart the moment she leaves, so I’m hooked, depending, in love beyond reason.

I know she needs me too. An artist needs to be around the art created through its hands. I’m the boy she turned into a better man. Now I’m the man who can protect her from all she fears and help her face the inevitable.

We give and take. To love and be loved.

Now she’s sitting on the floor, caught up in her own, little world, the dog resting near her. The candles light up the bottle of wine next to her and a soft, ruby red light washes over her face. It’s like I’m looking straight into her heart. She flips the page of her book, then goes back to rubbing her foot. It usually means she’s giving me subtle signs to come and warm them.

I slip right next to her whilst our baby-sized pet  is eyeballing me as if I’m about to steal her from him.

“We can share, you know,” I say as I softly scratch behind his left ear.

“Does that mean he can sleep in our bed tonight?” she says, not looking up from the book, yet placing her hand on mine.

There’s that smug expression again.

“No wild animals in my bed allowed,” I grumble. The dog ignores me like a boss. Furry little monster.

She gives me that sad face I just hate to see.

“Except for you,” I smile. Gotcha. The corners of her mouth dance upwards.

“I could fall asleep right here,” she says, her head collapsing on my shoulder. “I love watching the lights in the Christmas tree.”

“I love watching the lights in your eyes,” I whisper.

“You’re so corny,” she giggles, her lips pressed against my collarbone.

“Tends to happen when I’m with you,” I nod to myself.

“Have you ever loved a girl just the way you…you love me right now?”

Her question suddenly shifts the mood into a serious one. I have no idea why but tears well up in my eyes. This one sentence makes me realize how much I do love her, yet how different things could be five years from now. I can’t help but wonder if she’ll be in another man’s arms, whilst he asks her the same question and she replies she’s never loved anyone more than him.

“Baby?” she senses my frozen state of mind and slowly turns around, facing me.

I can only see the blurry contours of her face and eyes as I cry. This is the first time she sees my tears.

“I didn’t, I didn’t mean to…ooh baby,” she sits up straight, caressing my moist cheeks with caring hands.

Softly, I grab her hands, place them carefully on my chest. I want to tell her how scared I am. How much it frightens me to realize we’ll never really be one. We’ll always be two separate persons and I feel I’ve been wrong all along. I feel like I’ve been pressuring her too much to be with me. I feel fucking confused.

“I-It’s just…hard to think about the times of us not being together…just not being together,” I manage to say.

“Well, we are now. The past doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for asking that silly question,” her voice sounds lost.

“The future…I’m just worried about the future,” I try to look for answers in her eyes, but I know they’re not there.

“Come here,” she whispers, closing me in her arms. “I’ll never love anyone but you.”

☆✿ ☆✿☆✿ ☆✿·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●✿✿.｡.:* ☆:* ✿ *:☆*.:｡.✿✿●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠·✿

 Lovingly dedicated to @iheartadamL @ishprivate @angelzide @saraj92 @helloheemang @evaheroo @hannahwinchstr @chili2312 @sarahatesyou @rizzie05 @elenatjj

So cheesy, I know, but hey what can you say, Christmas is coming!

Wishing nothing but warm hearts and smiles for my readers this Christmas ♥

Froe x

Twinkle twinkle, can you see the dreams behind her eyes?

She breathes slowly, lying peaceful near the fire.

Words of mockery burn beneath her feet.

Her smiling heart she’s finally able to see.

This silence is her friend.

No need to try and fight any lies.

The spotlight is waiting for her in the morning.

There’s nothing but hope in her smile tonight.

This is what I do on a sundayevening when I feel bored/inspired,haha!

I wanted to experiment with the light and my camera a little and since Megan Fox couldn’t make it to do some acting, I figured I’d do it myself, lol I really do look like my face is screaming ‘lazy sunday”! Anywayzzz hope you’ll like my little film.

Music: Christina Perri live – Jar of hearts

Filmed & edited by me

Froe ♥

If you’d like, you could read ”Warm Porcelain – Prologue” first if you haven’t already before reading this. Cuddles and love x

chapter 1

She was beautiful. A little bird dancing on a wire about to break. She shouldn’t have taken him home, but something in her eyes told him she wasn’t saving him, he was saving her.

The subtle sway of her hips as she moved across the room, he would grow addicted to it. Like music in the background, she was always there. You couldn’t always see her, but he could feel her presence through the thin walls when she was in a room other than the one he was in.

These times in life a man would lay eyes on someone and wonder why she’s holding his hand, why she’s so patient with him, why he deserves to be near her, these times could drive a man to insanity. A woman so complex he’d almost beg her to stop loving him this unconditional. She made him feel on top of the world when he was actually buried underneath her feet.

She was the drag and he was the cigarette, slowly burning up.

The morning after the first night they spent together, just staring, wrapped up in her blankets and unspoken questions, it felt so different from that night. Everything became so real as the daylight swept away the safe, raven mist they’d been hiding in. He could see how beautiful she really was, what colours her walls were painted in, her coat hanging near the door. It was frightening, this normal environment, someone’s home he didn’t belong in.

He would crawl up from the floor, embarrassed to be like a child that needed a mother. Feeling nothing like a man. He could’ve cried ruby tears if she hadn’t closed the blinds, inviting darkness back in.

“Don’t worry, you can stay,” she said.

He wanted to scream that he couldn’t, that he wouldn’t, that she didn’t know anything about him at all. This was not where he was supposed to be, nowhere was a place to be found he could actually stay once someone knew.

Once someone knew who he was.

“Who do you think you are,” he said.

A voice like gravel. Her soul like the knees crashing against it. Torn open.

Some hurt those who care about them just to shield themselves for being hurt the first.

☆✿ ☆✿☆✿ ☆✿·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●✿✿.｡.:* ☆:* ✿ *:☆*.:｡.✿✿●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠·✿

Lots of you have asked me to continue this story, so I shall try to continue to write with all my heart. Thank you so much for reading.

Please comment, it kinda really makes my day to read your thoughts.

Ps. I’ve created a seperated catergory for this story so you can easily find it. I will number every part I post as a chapter so you guys can keep up.  

Love you all, Froe ♥

Dedicated with love to @vonSchluetow

Prologue

The question wasn’t, did he love me. The question was whether he was willing to love or not. I often wished for him to cross that line of silence, for him to raise his voice to me so I could be remembered he had one. His troubled gaze worried me and sometimes I wondered which promise he had made himself to be in this state of contemplation and constant silence.

Perhaps that’s why he drew my attention when we first met, standing outside in the rain steadily, as if he were waiting for the bus that would never come. Eyes staring right in front of him, lips not moving when I asked him if he needed a place to stay the night. Perhaps I found an accomplice, someone who was as crazy as me to be outside with this kind of weather, someone who understood what if felt like to be trapped inside four walls when the sky outside was crying, begging for company.

I haven’t found the reasons why but who says we need theories and explanations when we just follow our hearts.

His presence struck me, as if he were a statue I had never noticed standing there before. I remember walking up close to him, not sure if my eyes were fooling me, not sure if he was made of stone or flesh. Then I noticed his sudden downcast eyes, perhaps he had felt trapped by my closeness. I realized he wasn’t just a piece of art, he was a living masterpiece.

His slumped shoulders dragged me right down with him. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him here. Minutes later, we sat hunched in a corner of my flat, near the heating and near each other.

The only thing he told me was his name.

Joseph.

The sound of his voice sounded raw, rare. In a way it matched him, this strange man dressed in warm blankets and mystery. I kept repeating his name in my head, wanting to get used to it, wanting to justify just why I had taken him with me. Wanting him to be my friend and overall, wanting him. The feeling scared me but the grace in his face made it impossible for me to think straight.

He was insanely beautiful. Therefore, I temporarily lost my mind when looking at him. All I wanted, was for him to be safe, to not be a stranger anymore.

An hour, maybe two passed by and he had drifted off in a haze of sleep. He breathed heavily and I could almost feel the weight on his shoulders pushing down on mine. I moved in a little closer, reaching out my hand.

That first time I touched his face, I knew I would fall in love.

In a strange way, his skin didn’t feel the way it looked. He was warm porcelain. Scorching fragility. I felt so eager to crawl inside his mind, to understand who he really was.

He must have woken up when I let my flingers slide over his cracked lips. The damaged gates to his speech. I felt ashamed, wanted to hold myself back but his hand soon found mine and guided me even closer. He looked down, a pained expression on his face as he shook his head. I could tell he was battling himself, not wanting me close yet begging me to come near.

“It’s ok,” was all I could say.

I cupped his head in my hands and laced my fingers through his semi-long hair, trying to comb the worry out of his mind. He closed his eyes, leaning in to my touch. I wondered what was behind those shaky eyelashes. I swept my thumbs across them softly.

I’ve never felt a more intimate touch.

He turned his head to the side a little, pressing his lips faintly against the palm of my one hand. I remember my mother’s voice resounding in my head. “Don’t you ever trust any strangers.” But what man this vulnerable could do any harm. What girl this lonely would turn down the innocent presence of another human being.

He put his hand on mine, which was resting against his cheek. Then he sighed, shaking his head again, as he swiftly opened his eyes, looking for mine. I lost the last hints of fear when I  caught the agony that was reflected in this one look.

Then I realized, it wasn’t about me trying to figure him out. It was about him trying to understand why I was this kind to him.

☆✿ ☆✿☆✿ ☆✿·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●✿✿.｡.:* ☆:* ✿ *:☆*.:｡.✿✿●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠·✿

As you might have noticed, the idea of this little piece grew on me after writing my last post “An old suitcase in one hand.” There’s something about the characters I can’t seem to let go. I feel like there’s so much more to discover and I see their story revolve in my head, like a movie only I can see but want to share with you through putting it down into words.

Please leave me any comment on whether you would like to read more of this particular piece or not. I kind of feel this is more than just a short story. Please be so kind to let me know and comment below. Thank you so much for reading. I love my readers so much.

My loving dedication goes out to @Mariiesen @amieewhitney @xxVergessen @HazelKVL @ElineKeiju @Meandart @Aitenlight @ultrasquid @ronin_geisha @danschaumann @nalesaporta and most of all a special dedication to @Hannawheeler because sweetheart I promised to write you a story and this could just be it. I wanted to write you something special and right now, this story means a lot to me. I miss you!

Love, Froe ♥

He cried  a lot but today’s tears were different. Sadness was a word too small to describe what he felt. His eyes stung as he lay down his head on his pillow, moist eyelashes leaving a trail of blurry lines across the fabric. The softness of his mother’s hand smoothed over his cheek and he turned away from her quickly, not wanting her to spot the tears.

“I’m sure something came up…he’ll be home soon,” she whispered, pulling back her hand as if she had just burned it.

Silently, he shook his head, his hair brushing against the cold mattress. The soothing words hurt him even more because he knew they weren’t true.

“Liar,” he lisped, clenching the sheets in his fists.”Why does everyone  lie to me?”

“Hush now,” the once so proud woman spoke the words she was told herself by her husband so many times.

She was astonished every time again at how brutally precise her ten-year-old son could be, grasping reality with both his hands, despite her efforts of hiding it underneath a blanket of excuses. This tiny boy, with arms as strong as kitten paws, would perhaps do what she never could in life, stand up for himself.

Scream the truth although he knew it would be broken into little pieces. At least he’d be free when speaking his mind,at least he wouldn’t lose himself in the oppression of his bitter father. Maybe this boy was the part of her that was still willing to fight.

“Mom…” his voice broke through her thoughts. “When I grow up, when I’ll be a big boy, mom, I’ll never talk to him again.”

———–10 years later———–

Up till this day, he had lived in a deep slumber, dreaming of ways to escape the father not caring for him, not even coming home on Christmas evenings. Up till this day, he had looked his father in the eye when the man asked him a question, he had replied, polite and well-mannered. Up till this day, he had been nothing but a little boy scared of losing the father he never even had.

When he woke up this morning, the daydreaming had turned into clear vision. The downy hairs on his chin stubbornly present again. He stripped himself from being a child and dressed like a man for the first time. His reflection in the mirror looked confused, but he was determined not to turn away from it this time.

Wearing an old suitcase in one hand and his pride in the other, he slowly strode into the livingroom. His father would have never looked up if his mother hadn’t gasped so loud.

“Well don’t you look all dressed up,” the man wove his right hand into his grey hair, not emerging from the chair he was sitting in.

The boy pressed his eyes shut, ignoring his father’s comment and tenderly kissed his mother’s forehead, whispering “Don’t blame yourself for anything.”

When he walked out of the door, ragged up clothes, a busted lip, he didn’t look back. Just seconds ago when his father had pinned him against the wall in a rage because his son acted as if he wasn’t even there, he had endured every blow and mean word. His silence was the biggest defense, the biggest way of showing he no longer cared. He had turned his head away from the angry face he had gotten so used to. His mother sobbing in the background, like a soundtrack to a movie.

He would never return home again.

—————————————

Nights when he ghosted through the room, thinking about his mother alone in his old home, her pain of losing not only herself but also her only child, made the old tears come back. But this time, caring arms of a woman he loved would hold him. That little boy would come out again, no longer able to hide, but she made everything alright.

Because when he left the agony behind, all that was packed in that old suitcase was his hope to find love. He found it when a girl later called him inside her home after he’d been wandering outside in the pouring rain for hours, trying to figure out what to do next. She covered him in blankets and smiles and he never left her side again. Just like that.

The day his father died, he spoke again for the first time.

“I love you.”

☆✿ ☆✿☆✿ ☆✿·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●✿✿.｡.:* ☆:* ✿ *:☆*.:｡.✿✿●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠·✿ ☆✿ ☆✿ ☆✿ ☆

Thanks for reading.It’s been a little while since I posted a story but I believe you should only write something when it’s from the heart x

I’m in love…with a man that had my age a hundred years ago!(Just my luck.)

And his name is…

Joseph Frank Keaton, better known as Buster Keaton (Buster was a nickname he got when he was still a child, doing stunts without ever hurting himself), hero of the silent movie era in the twenties as an actor and director. Equal to Chaplin’s talent, if not better.

He truly intrigues me, from the first moment I saw those eyes I could tell there were stories behind them that would take a lifetime to tell. I just can’t stop watching his melancholic face combined with the comedy scenes he performed. I’m smiling as I watch but at the same time he looks so sad I wanna crawl into the reel and cuddle him.

Once again, I believe I was born to late, haha!Should have been a twenties moviestar!

Despite his incredible work as a director during 1921-1929, his creative input was put on hold by the studiosystem (MGM, in particular) in the late twenties. Sadly, people tend to forget the mindblowing camera work & hidden messages he put into his movies, for instance ”The navigator”, where the camera wobbles to portray life on sea and the shadows behind the actors (i.e.Keaton himself) kiss when the actual actors are armslength apart.

Kissing shadows in"The Navigator" 1924

If you’ve never heard of him, please watch his films, you can find most full versions on youtube.(hooray!!) I’m about 200 percent sure you’ll understand how I feel when you see him. If you don’t know what movie to pick, watch his classic “The general” from 1927, “perhaps the greatest film ever made” as quoted from Orson Welles himself, the mastermind behind ‘Citizen Kane’. You’ll find a lot of his talkies as well (1930 and later), but it’s the films he directed himself through the twenties that are the true masterpieces.

Keaton's dream in "Sherlock Jr." 1924

 He inspires me so much. To bring such a strong message to movies before the talkie era…unbelievable. Not to mention how revolutionary he was with the camera. He was one of these people that carried creativity, intelligence, passion & fragility all in one.

This is my favorite scene EVER:

Someone get me a timemachine and an engagament ring, please!!