Bio
Hello everyone! This is my beautiful room, a universe of love created with a magic energy. There is not reason anyone should be alone today. I broadcast here while I study. So you can be enchanted by the silence, the music, the dance and of course a hairy pussy. I like to do things I enjoy. Check my menu and send me a tip note. Regarding myself let me tell you that I love sharing time with my family, I love studying, I love kind and humble people, I love traveling and good restaurants, good vibes...I love people who are generous.
Sorry, when I broadcast here, I just show some parts of my body and I don't show my face. If you want to support me, just tip me. Note: I have a tip menu with a specific set of ta****ou can always tip more with a tip note for the request. Thank you so much for being here, I appreciate that, I hope you like my company. :)
Where are you? Where is Illyria? Ancient Kingdom of Illyria was a historical region of Europe; a territory that today forms part of Albania, Croatia, Serbia, Bosnia and Montenegro.
Why Illyria? I have gone into voluntary exile. I am a 20-year-old princess who has fled his father***ingdom. What I am trying to do in this place is to find out what is my role in this world.
From Neurons to Neighborhoods:
''We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time'' —T.S. Eliot, from ''Little Gidding''
''I am not frightened. I am not frightened of anything. The more I suffer, the more I love. Danger will only increase my love. I will sharpen it, it will give it spice. I will be the only angel you need.You will leave life even more beautiful than you entered it. Heaven will take you back and look at you, and say, only one thing can make a soul complete, and that thing is love.'' —Bernhard Schlink, The Reader
Being alive together,
On the same earth,
At the same moment of eternity
It is a miracle
Just like the wonder of never having seen his face and loving him so deeply
What a joy it is to live adoring him
What a fortune to desire every part of his body
I only live yearning for his presence, the air that surrounds him, the ground where he moves,
But I can leave my cell
I want my love to work miracles and for my desires to be the longings of both of us
Because I am afraid to think that I will no longer feel his spirit and that the noise between us will break.
Love, death and so forth. —Sèfora
i understand
In my eyes, the shadow of the light of an endless day,
and my body, broken by the echoes of broken promises.
The weight of what I have lived rests on my shoulders,
and my soul is lost in the mist of the artificial night.
My hands tremble when they touch ******in I no longer recognize,
and my sagging breasts, tattooed with the name of the one who has taught me oblivion,
have become symbols of the death I did not choose,
silence that whispers what I cannot say or understand.
In front of a mirror that reflects the synthetic light of a world I no longer understand,
I lose myself, drowned in a reality that collapses in shadows
and in the distance of a time that is no longer measured.
Pain envelops me,
there are no words that can save me
from the darkness I feel growing inside me.
I don't know if my steps are my own or the echoes of others who passed before.
My body has been a refuge and a condemnation,
and sometimes I wonder,
if in the end, what I seek is not to be seen,
but simply to be understood —Sèfora.
Sartre
You don't love someone who becomes an object,
nor to those who submit under a pretext,
as Sartre says, in the love he describes.
Whoever wants to be loved must know,
that love is neither a possession nor a duty.
It is an act that arises in the space of freedom,
where every soul can fly with clarity.
A love is an echo that resonates,
and in reciprocity its strength rings.
It is not a loop that traps, nor a wall that encloses,
but a bridge that crosses the sincere soul.
To love, it is necessary to be free,
from freedom is born that fire so pure,
which cannot be had without being secure.
Love is woven in the genuine look,
where each being, the other, is fascinated.
Whoever wants to be loved must understand,
that love cannot subdue another.
Only in freedom does one grow,
one gives,
and in reciprocity love will live. —Sèfora
Under the Wings
Love is an untamable bird,
that flies free, untied,
you cannot capture it with words
nor tame it with sweet oaths.
You call it, but it escapes,
and the wind carries away its distant song.
You thought you would impress it,
but the bird flapped its wings
and flew away remotely, where the horizon
blunders with eternity.
Neither curses nor pleas
can stop it; it continues on its way.
Love is a wandering creature,
without a rule or permanent character,
and when you do not expect it,
it appears without warning,
and casts a spell on you quickly, swiftly,
like a wind that cannot sound.
If I love you, take care,
because love is a game of f o r c e s
that lifts you up, knocks you down,
and then leaves you sighing in its abandonment.
Love goes away, comes back,
it hides and shows itself,
it slips away when you think you have it
and it paralyzes you when you try to escape.
Thus, the bird continues its flight,
and we, with our souls in the air,
continue to be excited about its return. —Sèfora
Bluebird
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?
—Charles Bukowski
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