Around the time of October’s demise
I crave harsh, lung burning inhales
and dizzying exhales.
Allure of a cigarette,
much to my health’s regret.
C.A.
Acquired Stardust
tumblr dot com
we're not kids anymore.

titsay
hello vonnie
Game of Thrones Daily

Kaledo Art

pixel skylines

roma★
will byers stan first human second
styofa doing anything
ojovivo
dirt enthusiast

★

shark vs the universe
Three Goblin Art

if i look back, i am lost

⁂
RMH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

seen from Greece
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from China

seen from United States
seen from Switzerland

seen from Spain
seen from Netherlands

seen from Netherlands

seen from United States

seen from India

seen from Singapore

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Indonesia

seen from Malaysia
seen from Norway
@alchemizingdreams
Around the time of October’s demise
I crave harsh, lung burning inhales
and dizzying exhales.
Allure of a cigarette,
much to my health’s regret.
C.A.
𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 ☕️
𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔯𝔱
Falling through night as
Icarus, downed by light
holding fast to confused
wails of the masses, unruly
in their decaying, nitrogenous forms.
A mockery of divinity and emotional tides is all I’m met with here.
C.A.
dripping pomegranates, raven crunching leaves, glowing gold.
autumnal grace makes me bold.
Yannis Ritsos, trans. by Kimon Friar, from a poem featured in "Erotica: Love Poems,"
There’s nothing in life quite like autumn. Misty mornings and rainy afternoons. The crisp cool feeling that hangs in the air. A sense of warmth that comes from within. It’s nothing less than magical, really.
July was full of snakes,
August, the doe;
what will we discover
come September’s amber glow?
The Spider.
cttos <33 pinterest
“don’t let your happiness depend on something you may lose.” - C.S. Lewis
It takes a lot of meaningless, endless sufferings to discover oneself
today’s musings
There’s a ghost of you in my mind’s eye
it’s completely wrong to who you are
now,
and simply the version I saw of you then.
Perspective.
Who do you see when you think of me?
Do you still, as I do of you?
Or
am I lost to the folds of your memory?
C.A.
hills filled with fog as
leaves, autumnually crisped,
drift lazily; cutting their way
through and
landing in morning dew
C.A.