The individuality of our souls scream loudly but ironically is kept buried under this mortal mold and we're left explaining the uniqueness of our selves
Not today Justin

oozey mess
One Nice Bug Per Day

Product Placement

shark vs the universe
Claire Keane
hello vonnie
almost home

pixel skylines
todays bird
Sade Olutola

PR's Tumblrdome
d e v o n

Love Begins
$LAYYYTER
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

Kiana Khansmith
i don't do bad sauce passes
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Xuebing Du
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@ctnsto
The individuality of our souls scream loudly but ironically is kept buried under this mortal mold and we're left explaining the uniqueness of our selves
/The constant pursuit of knowledge/
Beauty is terror.
Beauty is terror.
𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔰
the secret history aesthetic
henry winter you are so emotional. you are so much of that scared little boy who hated his father, only with skin grown thicker to bear his beatings. you are so desperate for somebody to see you as a human yet you can’t fathom the possibility so you make yourself a god.
you pretended to strip yourself of all feeling, of all guilt. you killed the one man who could make you laugh, who still saw you as a person, and it still wasn’t enough.
you could never escape being a man, being a burning, fiery ball of rage and guilt and fear. everybody looked at you as if you were a god, but if only they knew.
There is a kind of sadness that comes from knowing too much, from seeing the world as it truly is. It is the sadness of understanding that life is not a grand adventure, but a series of small, insignificant moments, that love is not a fairy tale, but a fragile, fleeting emotion, that happiness is not a permanent state, but a rare, fleeting glimpse of something we can never hold onto. And in that understanding, there is a profound loneliness, a sense of being cut off from the world, from other people, from oneself.
Virginia Woolf
I too react this way when the phone rings
Henry winter , my favorite murderous college student with sociopathic tendencies
oh to be immortal and be able to consume every piece of knowledge and literature ever
When Virginia Woolf wrote: "The world is entire, and I am outside of it, crying." and Anaïs Nin: "I watched life and wanted to be a part of it but found it painfully difficult.", I know you felt it too.
there is something to ghosts ; death does not finish everything a ghastly shade flees the extinguished pyre
—Propertius, IV.7.1-2
Bookstores always remind me that there are good things in this world.
Vincent Van Gogh
~image from pinterest not my oc~
“it’s starting to smell like pumpkin spice!”
“it’s starting to smell like scary movies!”
no.
it’s starting to smell like, the snow in the mountains was melting and bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to realize the gravity of our situation.