"Estas alegrias violentas têm fins violentos
Falecendo no triunfo, como fogo e pólvora
Que num beijo se consomem".
— Romeu e Julieta, Ato II, Cena VI.
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Love Begins
Misplaced Lens Cap

JBB: An Artblog!
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
d e v o n

tannertan36
Cosimo Galluzzi

titsay

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Monterey Bay Aquarium

ellievsbear

roma★
occasionally subtle
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
🪼
tumblr dot com
we're not kids anymore.
Claire Keane
ojovivo

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@danificada-a
"Estas alegrias violentas têm fins violentos
Falecendo no triunfo, como fogo e pólvora
Que num beijo se consomem".
— Romeu e Julieta, Ato II, Cena VI.
algo mútuo
[…] she kept the madness of her heart intact.
Gabriel García Márquez, from ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’, tr. Gregory Rabassa
“There are things we think we cannot bear, and then we do.”
— (via thisismyillusion)
I guess, when you know you know.
“Amar dá um medo danado. De perder a liberdade, a identidade, de se machucar, de não saber mais voltar.”
— Clarissa Corrêa.
All I Had to Say for Myself
by Mindy Nettifee
I couldn’t touch you without ruining you, so I didn’t touch you at all.
It’s when you’re on the brink of something that you lose your balance. You told me that once. When I can’t bring myself to say what I need to, my heart plays Russian Roulette with my throat. I swear I fired that night, but, nothing.
Someday, I’ll show you the bullet I had for you, after time has done the wash. I’ll take it out of the jar of missed opportunities. We’ll hold it up to the light. You’ll roll it around your mouth like a fallen tooth. You won’t forgive me exactly, but we’ll laugh about how small it is. We’ll wonder how such a little thing could ever have meant so much.
aprenda,
lar é aquele lugar onde você não precisa se fantasiar para se encaixar.
“Eu fui feita pra amar você.”
— Morena
Parei de sair. Parei de conversar. Espero parar de existir.
Quando alguém usa a expressão: "Foi a gota d'água", é porque o balde, a pia ou a alma já estavam cheios.
Lapsus Scribendi.
Sinto falta de como você era nos meus pensamentos...
Srta. Bukowski