Floreciendo

Entre las olas del Caribe, entre naranjas y blancas amapolas ~

[cubaypuertoricoson]

It’s beautiful when there’s not power in home. We are all the family together. Everything is dark but so there are little candles everywhere. We talk about our memories when we were more younger. Remembering, like today, when my sister climbed the trees to get us some guayabas. We talk with our relatives and we sit on our legs and with our hair up. There’s only the sound of our laughs, the coquis and the crickets. The sound of August nights beginning.

[dulcedenaranjas]

Almost a year 😭💞

[dulcedenaranjas]

Can I just say, I am utterly in love with your blog and really love the way you write. Your memories really made me appreciate the little things in life a lot more, so thank you! ❤️

Thank you so much lovely! You can find me in my other blog, I will keep writing there. Because I won’t use this one anymore. 💛🌸it's cubaypuertoricon 🌺

[cubaypuertoricoson]

Memories: There I was. I probably had around eleven or twelve years. We were in the car talking, drinking, eating with the doors open in front of a bunch o bars. You know, like the old and good times in the country. When the streets were so calm and the people were more nicer. Where everyone enjoyed to walk just to feel the cold breeze and hear the salsa, bachata, or pop music of the bars. It was around midnight. I saw two girls friends walking and talking to each other, they were wearing a black skirt. And I said to my grandma: “I want one of those! I wish I could have one” and I never had the skirt, but I still remember the girls and their happiness and that night. And tonight, I am missing everything. I am missing those nights, “Frescas, libres, únicas”. I am missing those kind of people smiling on the streets without the fear of robbers. Tonight, I am missing people being very, very very happy.

[luthienne]

Vayamos por las calles ahora que la tarde se cubrió de pasionarias.Let’s go through the streets, now that the afternoon is covered with passionflowers.

Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 (tr. Yvette Siegert)

[lachantefleurie]

Nights like these (verano presionado contra la piel, vientos frescos como pájaros oscuros) are meant to be split like a torn orange–passed between hands. 

[podencos]

Whenever I notice someone FaceTimeing in the grocery store they’re showing the other person fruit or asking them what cereal or coffee or dinner they want and it’s rly sweet imo

[luthienne]

Debajo de mi vestido ardía un campo con flores alegres como los niños de la medianoche.A field of flowers stung beneath my dress, giddy as children at midnight.

Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 (tr. Yvette Siegert)

[dulcedenaranjas]

i am in love with your blog 💕

Thank you much lovely

[outdoormagic]

Fairy Magnolia Cream closeup (4) by tesselaarusa

[jovencite]

somos lo que florece después de llover

[lesgardenias]

late July: still winds, nights fragrant with dirt and cherries, dancing to Eastern European music in a red sundress, picking fruit with my family, running and laughing in the garden like a little girl

[jayseanfanclub-blog]

tory burch ss16

[luthienne]

the world was simple and intact in Spanish—luna, sol, casa, luz, flor, as if the nombres / were the outer skin of things, as if words were so close / one left a mist of breath on things by saying / their names…

Julia Alvarez, from The Other Side/El Otro Lado

[lachantefleurie]

Sparkling memories as green as the yards of family gatherings, running barefoot as a girl–sunned and strong. Stepping on sweet and rotting fallen pears underneath the canopy of white blossoming trees. The smell of limes slicing the heavy air as Tanty cooks outside. The sound of laughing brown limbs and native music playing from a cheap radio.

[lachantefleurie]

august 2nd: uncles smoking in backyards and the sound of many trees in wind, the word “corazón” in my mind and in the red hibiscus, lips full of midday sun that have turned to roses, holding singing babies with their hands in my dark curls, pitting avocados and slicing papayas, dancing dirty feet, playing cricket with the little tanned boys (a bruise ripening on my thigh like a sweet fig), a sundress that smells of grass, far-off rain, and osthmanthus flowers, a storm passing through the near distance–blue and consuming

[wutjp-deactivated20210204]

[lewisapon]

Shop At: Apon Studios