The future is already here – it’s just not evenly distributed.
William Gibson, The Economist, December 4, 2003
RMH
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Claire Keane
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

blake kathryn
Monterey Bay Aquarium

if i look back, i am lost
Keni
ojovivo

Kiana Khansmith
No title available
hello vonnie
Cosimo Galluzzi
DEAR READER

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No title available
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Jules of Nature
Sade Olutola
almost home

seen from Germany

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@backtotheshadows
The future is already here – it’s just not evenly distributed.
William Gibson, The Economist, December 4, 2003
I miss you. What a fuck up.
🌙 Master of none - Master of dark arts
Morph+
http://youssefslashthings.tumblr.com/
As if the city’s got your back. As if you’ve got a mouth that can swallow all things made of cement and are tall. The audacity. As if the sky and the scrapers can live harmoniously in your tummy. As if your biology is bigger than all geography. As if all the traffic and escaping pickpocketers are your blood. As if the city has never made you bleed. Love it. As if the city will never have a mouth bigger than yours and challenge you to a swallowing contest. As if in the end, you will win. As if everything dying has nothing to do with you.
- If you leave your city you'll love it more and that's not clever. Kagiso Tshepe © 2019
It is easy to hurt someone who looks just like you, especially when you hate yourself.
Olivia Gatwood, from New American Best Friend (via buttonpoetry)
I am a sheep trapped in wolf’s clothing. I have been caught howling at the moon and mistaken for a predator, mistaken for bloodthirsty, mistaken for a mistake in need of erasing.
Bilal Moon, “Muslim Bill of Rights” (via buttonpoetry)
There is no word for a journey comprised entirely of leaving.
Michael Lee, “Leaving” (via buttonpoetry)
[…] a dim misty moon appears as I torment myself with doubt. What still consoles me? When my love is tangled in knots, and radiates like a deep ache that startles me awake every night.
Miklós Radnóti,
I have never had a mother, or no longer, or once did, briefly, for a day or two.
Rachel McKibbens, “Poem Written with a Sawed-Off Typewriter” (via buttonpoetry)
I can’t say it any better. Truth.
Benjamin Clementine
Antipode, RENNES
FRANCE
Peter Pohjola
There’s no way I would let her die, but I wonder how far I would go to force her to live.
John Ratz - “Love in a Time of Desperation” (CUPSI 2016)
Solid shit.
I would run through myself to get away from him.
Rachel Wiley