I went to the place where we come from, the sea, and asked how to live. Air and water touched me, coming and going. And along with the whole earth, I breathed. This is how, little one, the sea whispered, this is how we live.
almost home
Three Goblin Art
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JBB: An Artblog!
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
taylor price
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

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Claire Keane

Origami Around

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

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One Nice Bug Per Day
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Cosmic Funnies
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Not today Justin

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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@bands-keep-me-breathing
I went to the place where we come from, the sea, and asked how to live. Air and water touched me, coming and going. And along with the whole earth, I breathed. This is how, little one, the sea whispered, this is how we live.
every morning i wake up & get my coffee & i recite in my head this excerpt from ‘invitation,’ by mary oliver: “it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world.” & i just say it over & over again until it sticks to my mind for the rest of the day. it is a serious thing. i am alive. i am so lucky. this fresh morning i get the chance to live again & again & again
consuming media like
…I’ll always reblog the frog.
Counterpoint: Matsumoto Hoji, active c. 1875
That’s a compelling counterpoint
all of the sudden you’re twenty-nine, standing on the sidewalk barefoot before bed, and the crickets sound just like they did when you were seventeen, sleepless with the windows open. when you remember sadness ran through your body like a fever. nights you were so familiar with the dark—the kind you watched break into daylight around 5, and the kind of restless sinking that never quieted. you remember thinking long and hard through those unceasing nights, in the hidden journals written in your young handwriting, that you’d never live past 18. whether a goal or a prophecy, you weren’t sure, but something felt definite that this grief would be the thing to pull you under, if only hoping a small peace would follow.
the sidewalk is rough, but still warm under your feet. it’s been so long since you’ve thought about this; somehow both twelve years and a lifetime ago. the dog finishes sniffing around the trees and bounds back to you, a happy familiarity once he catches your eye. you’ll both go upstairs to the room you love and fall asleep, in the house you love and share with your best friend. tomorrow, you’ll spend the day laughing, fingers intertwined with your partner, in a loving relationship you’d have never imagined possible.
twelve years after. how easily you saw it over, and what friendships, trips and cross-country moves, published books, new talents, heartaches and bad hair cuts, gardens, and long indulgent breakfasts you’ve accomplished since. you forgot there was a time you couldn’t see yourself alive past eighteen. now, you can’t picture ever wanting to leave this.
Blondie - Heart Of Glass
In the San Juans
“For a tough kid I had a bad habit of getting attached to people.”
— S.E. Hinton
“Never hope for it more than you work for it.”
— Sonya Teclai
The Virgin Suicides (1991)
“That’s the way it is: If two people want to be together, they’ll find a way. They’ll forge a way.”
— Shobha Rao, An Unrestored Woman: And Other Stories
Wish therapy was like it is in films. I wanna lie on a chaise longue in a low lit room filled with random shit while an old, well-read man talks to me about dream analysis. I dont want Sarah from CAMHS to awkardly ask if I'm a bit sad.