KIROKAZE
wallacepolsom
roma★
Jules of Nature
Peter Solarz
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
No title available
NASA
Sweet Seals For You, Always
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
we're not kids anymore.
titsay
No title available
occasionally subtle
pixel skylines
Andulka
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
tannertan36
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styofa doing anything
seen from Singapore
seen from Israel
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Malaysia
seen from Chile
seen from Tunisia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Vietnam
seen from United States
seen from United States
@colderthanwinter
maybe it wasn’t a great love. not the love of the century, or a love story that’ll go down in history—but it was enough for me. It was raw fire and passion, but also softness and protection. It was bruises on our throats and “let me know when you get home.”
and though i met you in the winter, i have never felt so warm. you brought springtime and the thaw to a heart that had previously been frozen cold.
Alex, February 19th, 2018.
Say his name over and over again until it stops sounding like a word. Until it doesn’t make his face appear in your head. Until it stops breaking your heart. Say it while looking in the mirror—pay attention to the way your lips touch then part. Repeat it every time you run the brush through your hair. Say it out loud when you’re picking out your clothes. And whisper it softly when you’re laying in bed. Repeat it to yourself until it loses all meaning. Until it is just another name, another word, another face. Another chance you thought you had but lost again. Say it until it falls out of rhythm with your heart beat. The way he fell out of love with you—the way you’re not sure he was ever really in it. Repeat it when your voice is breaking, when you’re screaming—and when you’re calm too. Say it. Until it stops being significant to you. Because a name is just a name. And a boy is just a boy. And he is just someone you thought you loved. And you can convince yourself of anything if you repeat it often enough.
i started getting sick again when i tried to purge the butterflies from my stomach and ended up puking blood
sick
thunderstorms used to be scary but now we're standing on the trail, laughing and smiling and I'm not afraid at all.
i miss New York City. I miss the sirens in my ears drowning out my thoughts. I was so alive. I was so alive and happy. And free. The city tore my chains right off of me. God bless that place. I think that it did something to me. The dirt and grime of the city got so far under my nails that it melted right into my bloodstream. I wasn't afraid there. I was fearless. I was pushed through the crowds of people like a fish being pushed down the stream by a current and I didn't care. I didn't have anywhere I need to be and I didn't have anyone who needed me. I was alone. I was whole. I was alive.
An Ode To New York City
I can remember to weigh myself, 1, 2, 3 times a day. And I can remember to purge 1, 2, 3, 4 times after having ate. I can remember to drink 2 water bottles and 2 cans of Diet Coke before I put 3 fingers down My throat. I can remember to turn the stereo volume to 10 in case anyone is home. And I can remember the 6 different places that I’ve hidden baggies of puke and bottles of laxatives. But the 1 thing I can’t remember, sometimes–is why I’m doing this. My phone has 2,347 pictures saved to it and half of them are body checks, and crash diets. I spend 23 hours every day debating whether or not 300 calories is too much. But by 8 o'clock it doesn’t matter because I’ve eaten 3,000 and now I’m hiding back in the bathroom again. 9 out of 10 fingers are covered in polish because I sometimes check the 1 nail to see if it’s turned blue yet. And I have 7 different bruises that I can see and I don’t know where they came from, and I don’t know why I feel oddly proud of them. I have over 100 hairs collected in a ball in the shower because when I run my fingers through it, it falls out. I have 1 chair in the shower too, because sometimes, I fall over. But I’m used to almost falling over at least 4 times before 11 am and counting to 10 and trying to ground myself back in reality again. And I’m certainly used to walking on the treadmill for 2 hours to burn 650 of the calories I haven’t even eaten. I have grown accustom to waking up at 4, 5, 6am with laxative pains that are too embarrassing too admit. I have been committed 3 times but I’ve never really been sick because I’ve never really been thin. I mean, for 6 months my dad told everyone he loved me and that he was so proud of me, but that’s just because I was momentarily skinny. And for 1 year my mother screamed at me if I didn’t eat. But they haven’t done that in 2 years. So what does that say about me.
numbers
now there's just ashes instead of magic and the butterflies have all turned to dust inside my stomach. like milk that turns sour--love turns rancid.
02/19
it's 2am and the memories no longer feel so good and they're not enough when you're not here to hold me. it's 2am and your voice in my head sounds like nothing more than nails on a chalkboard and im not even sure what you really sound like anymore. it's 2am and im thinking about all the times i said i loved you and i wonder if i meant it or just felt as though you needed to hear it. it's 2am and im starting to realize that we were never really good for each other, but i would take having your poison in my veins again if it meant i could also hold you in my arms.
2am
they say that it's a pity that i never grew into my nose, and what a shame it is that i grew too big for my bones. they say i used to have potential.
I tell everyone that these ashes at my feet are from being reborn. But I’m not reborn. And im not brand new and I’m not “better for” having lost you. These ashes represent chaos and destruction. self destruction. They’re from blowing myself up because I couldn’t keep myself together. They’re from the times that I walked into the flames. And not because I thought the fire would “cleanse” me. But because I thought that maybe I’d get lucky and it would fucking kill me.
// (via colderthanwinter)
tell me what the conversation sounded like when you spoke to God and told him that i wasn't what you wanted anymore.
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i am the one night stand you have with your childhood bed before you run away to the big city again.
home
ontario
you can never get the blood off of your hands after you’ve broken a heart that was otherwise whole and tender and innocent
the first cut is the deepest
i miss you more than ever but maybe it’s just the weather
and i can picture it after all these days…