Lazy Summer days, cozy calisthenic concurrences, adventurous insights, carefree study, inspiring intuitions, definitive imprecision, consequent variability, frozen yogurt waffle cones, shinnicked bones, furtive independence, sensual stealth, unpasteurized promenades, thematic quests, impassioned evanescence, vespertine incandescence, echoing undulations, lunar embarkations, fireside simplicity, hidden roasted treasures.
Randomly sought after.
Improvised replays.
Some work to be done perhaps but certainly not right away, not today or this week, this hour, outlines drawn on the sweltering haze, remembered then forgotten, aeronautically cosigned.
At some point.
Envisaged, aggregated.
Legends of the Fall.
Amour.
Attach romance to the above and meaninglessly embrace the omniscience characteristic of the terrestrially divine, the mortal, insofar as you've become half of Inception's whole, and denied yourself through recourse to another.
Floating around, receding.
Call Me By Your Name cherishes love in Summer with the fleeting devotion of hesitant curious maturity.
Patiently sculpted with blossoming freespirited amicability, the easy going free flowing compassion sans conflict that I was hoping to find in Sleeping Giant, cultural differences praised without exaggeration, tranquil friendships, experiments, rests, excursions, it supplely romanticizes neither one nor the other, sensitively creating with the poignancy of unclassified commitment, it adores without seducing, and delicately tempers fair play.
The tenderest, sweetest, bravest, most sober and intelligent love story I've seen in years, as if love wasn't something controversial, wasn't concerned with ownership, loss, or time.
Scientific artistry.
Ethical understanding.
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