Lemon Queen & Sunflower Dreams

[paper-wounds]

via

[crimsolyn]

[belmasworld]

[inkpressedpetals]

this is what best friends are for.

[mournfulroses]

María Casares, from a letter to Albert Camus, featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959

[mournfulroses]

Georgia O’Keeffe, from a letter to Alfred Stieglitz featured in My Faraway One: Selected Letters of Georgia O'Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz: Volume One, 1915-1933

[mournfulroses]

Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Nelson Algren, featured in "A Transatlantic Love Affair,"

[adoringthesweetthings]

I can’t explain it but sometimes I get the faintest smell of you while I’m out some where and it absolutely kills any sort of good mood I’m in. And while I know logically that it couldn’t possibly be you, it makes me so irrationally angry and melancholy that I get physically exhausted.

[midnightinshadow]

[gothredy]

[shadows-whiskey-blood]

[scarlet-and-black]

“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”

Madeline Miller - The Song of Achilles

[midnightinshadow]

[mournfulroses]

María Casares, from a letter to Albert Camus, featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959

[mournfulroses]

Julia de Burgos, from a poem titled "That You Love Me," featured in Song of the Simple Truth: Poems

[adoringthesweetthings]

Time and time again you have shown me who you are. The knowing fills me with an ache that stems from my skin and burns me to my core. How deeply unfair and cruel it is to be aware of the minuscule space I take up in your mind and life. And yet the hours of the night where secrets go to hide find me laying in my melancholy. I day dream nostalgically about the darkness pressing heavy on my chest. I wrap myself in it softly, tenderly, imagining the weight of it is you pressing into me. It tucks me in and kisses me cold and clear and for a moment I can pretend this life I’ve built doesn’t exist around your absence.

[mournfulroses]

Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Ann Davidow-Goodman written c. 1951, featured in The Collected Letters

[inkpressedpetals]

conversations with a ghost.