*makes 2 tin can phones out of our red string of fate*

Love Begins
RMH
noise dept.
untitled
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No title available

@theartofmadeline
Mike Driver
YOU ARE THE REASON

gracie abrams
Jules of Nature
ojovivo
EXPECTATIONS
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Not today Justin

shark vs the universe

tannertan36
hello vonnie
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

#extradirty
seen from Nicaragua
seen from Nicaragua
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seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Netherlands

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@exlibrisdreams
*makes 2 tin can phones out of our red string of fate*
the moon + sunrise on my morning commute
I was in the club realizing things
i always mean it when i say i love you btw
‘but thats a stranger you dont know’ and i love them. i love that they exist and i love that they passed through my life. and i love u too btw
Paintings by Jelena and Aleksandar Paunkovic (via Kottke)
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
- Lyudmilla Ignatenko, the wife of deceased firefighter Vasily Ignatenko, Voices from Chernobyl, by Svetlana Alexeivich (transl. Keith Gessen)
Avenue in a Park & Landscape with Houses Vincent Van Gogh
from “Joan Didion, The Art of Fiction No. 71,” interviewed by Linda Kuehl, Paris Review (no. 74, Fall-Winter 1978)
Cassandra Clare
ppl romanticize reading poems like silently drinking hot tea, sitting under a blanket by the fireplace like in a period drama etc. when it actually feels like this
Since this post got notes, let's share one poem which makes us feel this way. I'll start
(by @seravph)
ig: subwayhands
bag of bones / humpty / last words of a shooting star / a burning hill / love me more