IT'S A CRUEL AND BEAUTIFUL WORLD.

• She loves him. He loves her crazy. She's a hopeless romantic. He's just hopeless. She's afraid to let go. He won't let her. A story about a silly girl in love with a foolish boy. Here, forever is a lie. • A collaboration between the Realist, Mary (TeamBella23), and the Poet, Sarah (YellowGlue), Dusty is an unforgettable story of childhood and the destruction of innocence, little sisters and big brothers who will lay you out, banana popsicles and green lizards, young love and devastating heartbreak, and a Troublemaker boy who collects a jar of hearts... This page is dedicated to those authors.

[heartbreakclubs]

lana del rey / cinnamon girl

[poetslut]

“all my grief says the same thing:this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. and the world laughs. holds my hope by the throat. says:but this is how it is”

— Fortesa Latifi (via madgirlf)

[willowsmithss]

But I’m gon’ wait until you finish so I can talk some more About me and my things, my car, my living”

[littlegreyache]

baby Bliss vibes <3<3

[lifeinpoetry]

The book does not end by completeness, but by proximity. The book does not end. It grows. It grows wildly or softly through our ability to bring ourselves to writing / to writing a book. It grows through our willingness to risk closeness.

Carrie Lorig, from Reading as a Wildflower Activist (via lifeinpoetry)

[purplebuddhaquotes]

We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry.

(via purplebuddhaquotes)

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[112196355]

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[dustyislove]

Wow, haven’t posted on here in awhile, but I’ve had Dusty on the brain lately. 

[dakotayounger]

[mxrsu-deactivated20210127]

[frnkoceans]

[evvence-deactivated20250520]

even though you don’t love me (x)

[ramonameisel]

“Mine”, you say and butcher her delicate skin with your lips and teeth, scratch over rosy pink to leave dark red marks and stains in shapes of rose petals. You feel them burn like the first snow, pure and waiting for the scrape of your fingers to ruin her, your mouth raw as the cold winter moon.

“Yours”, she breathes, shudders when she feels your lips clawing and rasping at her neck and her shoulders to leave tattoos and souvenirs in shapes of rose petals that she treasures. You feel your blood and bones longing for her as red as Eve’s apple, a passion that lingers underneath, her body a temple as hot as the burning summer sun.

- Mine/Yours | r.m upcoming in Fragments

[timotaychalamet]

The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1988) dir. Philip Kaufman

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