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NASA
we're not kids anymore.

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
YOU ARE THE REASON

⁂

Kaledo Art
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

pixel skylines
Claire Keane
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Not today Justin
Three Goblin Art
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Today's Document
$LAYYYTER

Andulka

tannertan36
sheepfilms

Origami Around
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from France
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Kosovo
seen from Jordan

seen from Italy

seen from United States
seen from Russia

seen from Peru

seen from United States

seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Mexico

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from T1
@cherrysnymph
and I wish I could choke on every rose petal and every letter you never sent me.
One day you think: I want to die. And then you think, very quietly, actually I want a coffee. I want a nap. A sandwich. A book. And I want to die turns day by day into I want to go home, I want to walk in the woods, I want to see my friends, I want to sit in the sun. I want a cleaner room, I want a better job, I want to live somewhere else, I want to live.
My heart runs really fast and my vision is blurry.
My hands are cold and my legs are shaking.
I have butterflies in my stomach and arms that burns like hell fire.
I'm not in love, I'm anxious.
the realization this brought me made me cry actual tears.. [not mine]
Hans Zatzka
Austrian, 1859-1945
The Belly Dancer (details)
it comes that time of the year again. skies are grey, people seems wintry and colours vanished from everywhere my eyes can touch. I can see death everywhere I go. fallen leaves rooting on my feets, rotten mushrooms on the trees... the cold air makes my nose bleeds and paints my face, leaving a spurt of my filthy blood staining my soul. I, sister of flowers, born from the bitterness of tears and the purest laughter, no longer shine in my vibrant and vivid colors.
flowers are dying and I am rotting. It's not like I wanted to stay alive, but I thought I would last a few more springs. what would eternity mean for something whose ephemeral existence was always doomed to an end?
my beauty fades and so does my life. white lilies do not belong to autumns, as they have always carried within them the essence of a beautiful death.
the further i go from my family, the closer i get to become just like them. it's paradoxal and inevitable.
i just want to spend the whole weekend learning about flowers, reading old books, drinking some tea and emptying my mind from its existence
Flowers by Irving Penn (1980)
— Sylvia Plath