trying on a metaphor
i don't do bad sauce passes
we're not kids anymore.
dirt enthusiast

Discoholic 🪩
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Claire Keane
DEAR READER

Origami Around

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❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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Kaledo Art
tumblr dot com
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

JVL

Andulka
cherry valley forever
Xuebing Du
seen from United States

seen from Switzerland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from T1

seen from Canada
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seen from T1

seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from South Korea
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seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia
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@feverfalling
punishing our bodies for society’s cruelty will not spare us the pain of it
you don’t really find yourself until you get lost enough to need directions from your soul
Simone de Beauvoir, from a diary entry featured in Diary of a Philosophy Student
— Clementine von Radics, from The Next Time We Talk On Facebook (via lunamonchtuna)
I sometimes wonder if I am a museum of failure or gallery of trying?
"How cruel to be touched by want, but never held by love."
Abhilasha.
—Fernando Pessoa, "The Book of Disquiet"
Bone, Mary Oliver
from Autopsy by Donte Collins
i’ll be very honest, being loved by someone like me isn’t soft or beautiful or poetic the way people romanticize it. it’s dark. it’s obsessive. it’s a kind of hunger that doesn’t stop once it starts. and the worst part? when you live far from the person you love, the love doesn’t dissolve— it ferments. it festers. the poems stop sounding like love letters and start feeling like screams no one hears. it’s not yearning anymore, it’s erosion. a slow-burning cannibalism of your own self.
because what’s the point of loving someone you can’t touch? can’t reach? can’t whisper things to at 2 am when the world is too quiet and your brain won’t shut up? it just stays trapped. inside you. turns sour. turns sharp. turns cruel. and then it spreads. into your fists. into your teeth. into the corners of your smile. and you carry it around like a curse no one else can see.
it’s fucking miserable being loved by someone like me. because i don’t just love. i collapse. quietly. completely. endlessly.
rotting for you
Your Invitation to a Modest Breakfast, Hannah Gamble
Lidia Yuknavitch, from The Chronology of Water: A Memoir