tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis @altumvidens - Tumblr Blog

“I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me.” The Bear and the Nightingale

#katherine arden #the bear and the nightingale

demondarlington

“Witch. The word drifted across his mind. We call such women so, because we have no other name.”

the winternight trilogy by katherine arden

#katherine arden #winternight trilogy #the bear and the nightingale #the girl in the tower #the winter of the witch

pre-party

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Edgar Allan Poe (via pre-party)

we-all-bear-scars

gratitudechangesthings-deactiva

If the stars were made to worship so will I If mountains bow in reverence so will I If the oceans roar Your greatness so will I For everything exists to lift You high, so will I

#hillsong

lifeinpoetry

I am a threat. And full of grief even. In my joy.

Kaveh Akbar, from “Pilgrim Bell,” published in The Nation (via lifeinpoetry)

tylerknott

This wee beastie was Typewriter Series #192. Don’t forget, as crazy as things can feel, somewhere, we are a star being wished upon.

haleyincarnate

Quote from Rick & Morty: Season 1, Episode 1

grace--upon--grace

eus-deactivated20150315

whenstarsgodim-deactivated20191

if there is a room in my skeleton that the sadness has not found yet, i have not found it either. i am becoming this empty cathedral, draped in generational sacrilege. always sorry for the wrong sins & never sorry enough. in the backyard, my six year old hands did a bad thing so i left them there to hurt–except they weren’t my hands, but they as good as were (since i ruin everything i touch). my therapist asks if the bruises are really mine, but i don’t know if i could breathe without them. there is a dream where you unswallow the swimming pool and find another hour of air inside your lungs to say you love me with, or at least to say goodbye. so this is another poem asking you to say goodbye. so this is another poem asking you to stay. there is a dream where mom shows me the oleander blooms and i do not stick them in my mouth when no one’s looking. there is a dream where i wake up in november under a perfect sky and don’t want to leave (& where you’re not gone to follow). i’m still finding dirt under my fingernails, even though i haven’t been to the grave in years (but then again i never left). pain is not a gentle lover in the care of something soft. this, the last door you closed. my chest, the last thing to rupture; in a body that should have healed. ask me again why i have always been afraid of safety. or this: show me a version where i make it out alive from what you couldn’t. show me a version where that doesn’t terrify me. ask me again if these bruises are really mine. i’ll pretend i know.

muscle memory || d.d (via whenstarsgodim)

#gdi