◊ ⿻ ℬe̻a̻u̻t̻y̻ i̻n̻ a̻l̻l̻ ℱa̻c̻e̻s̻ ✲❙ ❛Letters To Milena❜ ◊ Franz Kafka
★
i.pinimg.com/originals/f5/5f/dc/f55fdc587f71736df910814fd02f1a74.gif ★
╱ ╱ ╱ [the link c͟h͟a͟n͟g͟e͟s͟ with each new page]
ℬut on a better subject: Do you know when you were most beautifully dressed in Vienna, absolutely,
absurdly beautifully dressed? There can’t be any argument about it: on Sunday. By the way, why am I a human
being, with all the torments this extremely vague and horribly responsible condition entails? Why am I not, for
example, the happy wardrobe in your room, which has you in full view whenever you’re sitting in your chair or
at your desk or when you’re lying down or sleeping (all blessings upon your sleep!)? Why am I not that? Because
I would break down with grief if I had seen your misery during the last days, or even if—you should leave Vienna.
ˇ ⋆ ̤M̤o̤r̤t̤a̤l̤ A̤d̤o̤r̤a̤t̤i̤o̤n̤. — ℳay | 2024
