This instagram feed is a visual journal of writings, thoughts and images often paired together. The format is informal and allows audio/visual/text combinations that are perfect for the project. /// 99 followers max /// follow at your own risk

View this post on Instagram

I am a roof. Some windows are open to let the breeze in others are Blown out The doors are ajar Never closed. Walls Walls walls in between Inside Outside Walls * Les murs porteurs * Walls, longing for the fall. Not this way! This way! No! wait! I hear you fumbling around under the tiles looking for something. Your soft sun, your moons, your endless curiosity. We order more bricks and mortar. You tell me about how you tend to prefer tall Roman columns and the skeletons of scaffolding – Something about elegance and weathered, unfinished mistakes. A preference for renewal. For stability. For secrets. /// It doesn’t matter what you prefer, my love, as long as you prefer to come home – eventually. /// I hear you walking around on the third floor going up and down the stairs you forgot your tea in the bedroom again but you are not thinking about that just now. You put the kettle on this time This time your thoughts off in the distance Your hands, reaching for the darjeeling. The phone rings. It’s your sister she says words like Love! And Fire! and also words like remember! and feet! and a lot of other names including those for seeds and starlight and then those for the Fright. The phone chord coils down from your hand and back to the wall in an endless spring You share the words for breath. For trees. Your sister. Something about rubber boots and maybe not ordering them online this time? I am a roof. at night the sky like a mirror all of my leaves rustling My head shaking the stars through my hair It is a clear night Our eyes point upwards One for each star. The moon like a clue Like a C I can spell out this shape in another language – like – – Caresse – as in * Encore une caresse et puis on se lève * It will be time for breakfast soon. Your finger coils the spring of the phone chord as you speak. I am a roof. The first cave The mouth that speaks and breathes The backbone that reaches arches The hands that cup We go under. Over. I am a roof. /////

A post shared by Maïa Beyrouti (@maiabeyrouti) on

View this post on Instagram

•Threes /// . Transfer Accumulate Release

A post shared by Maïa Beyrouti (@maiabeyrouti) on