i don’t understand how my heart is, all at once, so heavy and so light.

this film is absolutely gorgeous — shot after shot, Dolan nails it and broke my goddamn heart only to put it back together. Mommy is full of so much love and joy, but there’s also so much pain… it’s so honest? so special? so horrible? i’m not really sure. i don’t think i want to know.

i needed to go to bed like four hours…

i just moved into my first apartment and one of the regular tenants is moving out tonight and we spoke for maybe seven minutes at most so thank GOD i put headphones in to watch this because i do not need her first impression of me to be someone who (a) forgets their wine opener at home and has to go down the street to borrow one AND (b) someone who watches claymation porn

maybe it's because i just read…

since my friend passed away in december, i don't think i've watched a single movie without thinking about her. i don't know if i've read a book or poem without thinking of her, either. i wouldn't say my grief has consumed me, and i'd like to think i'm not obsessed with it, but perhaps i'm hyperaware of loss in art. it's the absolute inevitable, the big cliche, the ultimate truth: we cannot control or change death. i'm interested in how…