TVRBS OE TELOC

Alanna. Species: Angel. Age: 38 (5,005) OC-RPACC. Mun/Muse 21+. Not affiliated w/ RUKI/the GazettE.

[xannabelx]

[fadeless-ruki]

The spring breeze sings through hollow bones, pushing out the dust and cobwebs and leaving my carcass emptier than before.

[schwierigephase]

“I wish I could heal what others have ruined in you.”

— weeeezley (via weeeezley)

[tilmitts-deactivated20140923]

[soracities]

Euripides, from “Orestes”, An Oresteia (trans. Anne Carson)

[semiotomatics]

there’s something about the sight of steps leading down into the water. it feels like the ocean telling me to come home

[hapless-hollow]

“I don’t speak about it anymore, the pain. When you have known so much. When you have screamed so loudly. The next stage is unbroken silence.”

— Helaena C Moon @ http://hapless-hollow.tumblr.com/

[stay-close]

I barely noticed loneliness anymore; it was my normal condition, by necessity if not by nature.

— Rachel Hartman

[sad-house-of-mortality]

Images by Jurgen Heckel

[fadeless-ruki]

aches

[genterie]

Photo by Sergiy Kadulin

Sunset light reflecting on the gate of Kremlin walls in Kazan, Tatarstan. Symbols of day and night, light and dark sides, warm and cold - all exists in the same moment, in one place, non possible to separate and changes all the time by our own view onto it. This is the magic of light. 

[fadeless-ruki]

Not even the best. Just something, anything, would be enough.

[morgondagen]

[kissedbythevoid]

https://www.instagram.com/p/BdqMUJll58v

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Abbas Kiarostami, from “A Wolf Lying in Wait; Poems,” published c. 2015

[actuallyalone-deactivated202510]

Was I too much or not enough?

[silversongsuggestion]

I’ve never known the taste of home, until my teeth grazed the edge of his lip, and his fingers fitted themselves between mine as if to say, this is a mystery solved. He tastes of gravity, and iron. I slip my hands into the hollow point of his chest, and his eyes, galactic center, are the silent promise of some heaven. I am celestial Icarus, flying towards the ever-consuming, the graveyard of stars exploding behind his teeth. He is the birthplace of Future, and I am the blood of Past, somehow our fitted bodies and mingled breath are creating Present.