[staringatcandles]

brooklyn nights

[piyasadancekiliyorum-deactivate]

[this-is-good-bye]

[heldagh0stt]

[happyheidi]

Joe Thomas photography

[antikseftali]

[dovebrother-deactivated20181119]

[vinyldjs]

[omgnarky]

[djglory]

[lilmamabeyellin]

[greelin]

being alive is great because there are so many different vegetables you can sauté. but then there are also the horrors

[vvlentinna-deactivated20231001]

t mereces q te traten lindo y q te den duro

[smokefalls]

“Most of the time, we think that love means just accepting the other person as they are. Who among us has not learned the hard way that we cannot change someone, mold them and make them into the ideal beloved we might want them to be. Yet when we commit to true love, we are committed to being changed, to being acted upon by the beloved in a way that enables us to be more fully self-actualized. This commitment to change is chosen. It happens by mutual agreement. Again and again in conversations the most common vision of true love I have heard shared was one that declared it to be ‘unconditional.’ True love is unconditional, but to truly flourish it requires an ongoing commitment to constructive struggle and change.”

—

bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions

[dead-poetsblog]

"I am fond of lovers but I cannot love, I am too far away, am banished,"

—Franz Kafka, from a diary entry wr. c. January 1917 featured in "Diaries"

[secretunderwaterbunker]

[ritikajyala]

He asked me when I fell in love with him and I knew it sounded dramatic to say the moment I saw him, so I told him this story of my grandma who had Alzheimer's- she forgot her name and the words for fruit and food, she forgot her address and how to use the washroom, all her life lost to the disease. The only thing she remembered was her son's name and when that began to fade, the one thing she always remembered was that she loved him, even in illness, even in insanity. She saw this 6 foot 2 man with a scrubby beard and she didn't know him but she said she trusted him, she asked him to hold her hand when she died. When does memory end and love begin? All I know is- she loved him before she remembered him.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire