Jimmy Eat World
🪼
pixel skylines
@theartofmadeline
bliss lane
#extradirty
tumblr dot com
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Today's Document
if i look back, i am lost
Mike Driver
taylor price
Keni
blake kathryn
No title available
Noah Kahan
oozey mess
No title available
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
Color Me Curious
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from India
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Ukraine
seen from Brazil
seen from Italy
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from Indonesia
seen from Taiwan
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from Sweden
seen from Laos
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
@devouringrome-blog
we get along like a house on fire, but nobody bothered to check the bedrooms. your hand fits so perfect in the ridges of my teeth, but somewhere between the rivered sky and the green green earth, i can smell the rotting happen.
— [ medea’s children sleep unbown ] a.g. (via andrewminard)
i’m praying so hard that i get to keep that scholarship and i’m so fucking scared that i will lose it maybe i hadn’t done enough maybe i screwed up
I know this time i'm done for sure because of that finance exam. Please, God. Let it not be so. :(
A stranger sits in front of me under the yellowing light of the place. He talks wildly of open skies and light beings and I listen, transfixed. He is currently telling me of a foreign country that I have visited before. He says he loved it, wants to live in it. The rain outside seems to hear the word 'love' and runs away with it in a single moment. My fingers feel emptied. The Country, his hands implores me. is better than this place. Better? I ask. It is not filled with similar devils, his heart answers. I cringe and the stranger asks me if I felt the same. I shake my head and he does not ask again, the pale light darkening in his skin. His once animated hands were stilled, and my mind is happy again. Happy again that he was not, Happy again that he does not know me at all. This time, my tongue flies and my heart races; every fiber of my hands tells him and tells him of a different foreign place that he had not stopped by before. The air closes in and both of us were darker, used by the light. I see fury in his eyes and loved it. A wretched part of me wants this, the stranger to hate me. He finally snaps and tells me, you're always like that. Like what? I ask. Blood is rushing back to my head as I am scrambling to change myself. No, no, I do not want this. Another stranger sits in front of me under the yellowing light of the place. He does not look me in the eyes and he tells me of leaving, not answering me. The night outside seems to hear the man and runs away with him in a single moment. I'm sorry, I tell him. I'm sorry. Thanks for the coffee, he tells the door. My fingers feel emptied once again.
HE CAME BACK, r.s.
i’m praying so hard that i get to keep that scholarship and i’m so fucking scared that i will lose it maybe i hadn’t done enough maybe i screwed up
sept. 7 - 19:02
.
The bread on the table, the hallowed light, the blood on your crown: which of these things will save you? Me begging for all of you, the night answers. Its moon is open and is cut in half. Peter sits across the makeshift table, takes the bread, and breathes in the holy dust. You watch him with half-lidded eyes and assumes his place. The wine flowing between his dark fingers is your blood. Take your fish and throw the nets away. It’s nothing new. You will always be the one to pay the gold coin. You smile at a certain John and suddenly, his hands are heavy with a silver plate. You turn your sacred head away and it is a second kind of death. They will always fall away. And you will always forgive them.
WE KNOW, r.s.
a shot at the moon, i kept her soul away from my wanting and greedy hands, stained gold, the remembrance in orbit, the roaring past, painted blue, a clear cut separation of the water from the land underneath. i now know i didn't love her eyes, her skin, or even her sharp sharp smile. an invocation and a lie. my ablation, my greatest fault: my mind still does not know every individual inch of your swift, brown hands. yet, it all just comes down to the fact of never-knowing— the almost reciprocation, the pauses in your prayers. a nebula of nerves, we waited.
APASTRON, r.s.
RECKLESS
he’s got substance for breakfast and guns for snacks.
Yesterday, I dreamt about you. I hardly remember the details, just that we kept on merging into one another, I was you, you were me. Finally, you somehow caught fire; I remembered that fire can be smothered with cloth, took an old coat and beat you with it. But then the metamorphoses resumed and went so far that you were no longer even there; instead I was the one on fire and I was also the one who was beating the fire with the coat. The beating didn't help, however, and only confirmed my old fear that things like that can't hurt a fire. Meanwhile, the firemen arrived and you were somehow saved after all. But you were different than before, ghostlike, drawn against the dark with chalk, and you fell lifeless into my arms, or perhaps you merely fainted with joy at being saved. But here the transmutability came into play: maybe I was the one falling into someone's arms.
Letters to Milena, Franz Kafka
Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.
Richard Siken, The Worm King’s Lullaby (via gabriellesevilla)
pls dont ever let me go to rome cs i will throw a fit and i will die trying to feel what elio and oliver felt
a thing
i had this little thing wherein i was uncomfortable saying their name while talking about them to someone like people who know i like them would really press me to spit it out. there are occasions where i vaguely refer to the person to my peers and they are like ‘who’s them?’ and i wave around trying to make it obvious. i think they did the pushing on purpose but anyway, i don’t know, it’s like saying their name is a lot like confessing. maybe there’s really more to a name than we actually see or hear.
Spring in Kyoto [by エブル]
—show me the favour of your eyes
Sappho, Fragments (tr. by Mary Barnard)
