Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Kiana Khansmith
blake kathryn
Sade Olutola
dirt enthusiast
todays bird
No title available
@theartofmadeline
oozey mess
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
DEAR READER
Peter Solarz
cherry valley forever
tannertan36
h
shark vs the universe
NASA
YOU ARE THE REASON
titsay
styofa doing anything
seen from Poland
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
seen from Singapore
seen from France
seen from Canada
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
@finger-guns-bb
on friends and soulmates and that type of love that feels like it's going to burst right out of your heart
@/zmije / @/leptodiera / @/bichopalo / lyrics from two best friends by bb bean / animatedjames on youtube / @/killingmyselfbutnotdying / unknown / @/sadiekane / friedrich neitzsche / katfish draws / @/elytrians / @/wormbus-art aka @/angel-pond / @/mushysuggestion / the unsent project / mhairi mcfarlane / unknown
you have to be kinder to people with memory issues.
you have to be kinder to people who are slow processors.
you have to be kinder to people who don't understand your jokes.
you have to be kinder to people who forget important dates.
you have to be kinder to people with cognitive decline.
you have to be kinder to people who were always this way, too.
you have to be kind. you have to be kind.
the great divide really is, in its entirety, about a great divide.
it’s about growing up, leaving home, building a life elsewhere, and realizing that return doesn’t restore anything—it only reveals what’s been shifted. the buildings are still there, your old haunts are still there, the people still recognizable, the past still intact in its own way, but something in the way you meet it has changed. you have changed, and in that change, no longer fit in the same way.
what the album keeps circling is not any one moment, but an accumulation: missed conversations that never fully reopen, relationships that continue but subtly drift, versions of yourself that still surface in memory but no longer really exist in the present tense. a yawning gap that forms not in rupture, but in time.
and layered underneath that is something sharper: the way separation isn’t just geographical or relational, but expressive. the voice itself changes. what you want to say doesn’t come out the same anymore—filtered through distance and everything that has happened in between. life lived apart. time that has left everything slightly out of sync with itself.
and so even the attempt to reach becomes something else: not return, but translation. not closure, but articulation across a space that no longer guarantees being heard properly—at all like before.
time doesn’t heal all. success doesn’t overwrite where you came from. leaving doesn’t undo what you still carry. it just changes what you’re able to access, and what only exists now as something you can look at but not step back into.
what emerges is separation as lived condition: the strange experience of loving what you no longer fully belong to, of still recognizing who you were without being able to become that version of yourself again—a version that once fit here, without question.
a divide between past and present; memory and lived life; who you were and who you’ve become.
🎃🐈
the great divide really is, in its entirety, about a great divide.
it’s about growing up, leaving home, building a life elsewhere, and realizing that return doesn’t restore anything—it only reveals what’s been shifted. the buildings are still there, your old haunts are still there, the people still recognizable, the past still intact in its own way, but something in the way you meet it has changed. you have changed, and in that change, no longer fit in the same way.
what the album keeps circling is not any one moment, but an accumulation: missed conversations that never fully reopen, relationships that continue but subtly drift, versions of yourself that still surface in memory but no longer really exist in the present tense. a yawning gap that forms not in rupture, but in time.
and layered underneath that is something sharper: the way separation isn’t just geographical or relational, but expressive. the voice itself changes. what you want to say doesn’t come out the same anymore—filtered through distance and everything that has happened in between. life lived apart. time that has left everything slightly out of sync with itself.
and so even the attempt to reach becomes something else: not return, but translation. not closure, but articulation across a space that no longer guarantees being heard properly—at all like before.
time doesn’t heal all. success doesn’t overwrite where you came from. leaving doesn’t undo what you still carry. it just changes what you’re able to access, and what only exists now as something you can look at but not step back into.
what emerges is separation as lived condition: the strange experience of loving what you no longer fully belong to, of still recognizing who you were without being able to become that version of yourself again—a version that once fit here, without question.
a divide between past and present; memory and lived life; who you were and who you’ve become.
fuck, marry, kill: the wound that won’t heal, the past you can’t undo, the ghost that keeps returning
like ships in the night
the great divide is like what if you stayed and it haunted you and what if you left and it haunted you and what if you came back and it haunted you
heafache.
you evil evil freaks will reblog anything
everyone tells me that ADHD isn't an excuse for being lazy and that there are people with ADHD who have overcome their symptoms and are successful but every day I drag around an invisible dopplegänger of myself who is horrible and listless and always complains. and he is so heavy. I'm ambitious and I'm passionate but he isn't and the problem is that to get anywhere in life I have to grab him by the leg and pull him along the whole way, kicking and screaming, and sometimes it gets exhausting. sometimes he pulls me down with him. and it gets a bit difficult to explain to people why I'm lying down on the floor in pain when they can't see him.
heafache.
you evil evil freaks will reblog anything
heafache.
you evil evil freaks will reblog anything
I know we are all like "people in caveman times would drill holes in their head to relieve headaches" andwe go oh that's so stupid that's so dumb but like. then I get a headache and I'm like.ooooh I get it I get it. Grug prepare the drill.
Naomi Shihab Nye, “Sifter.” A Maze Me: Poems for Girls
despite it all, i am glowing. i want everyone in my life to meet you; for your fingerprints to be on the windowpanes of my childhood home, to find your hair tangled on my pillow. you make it so easy to hear the birds. you make it so easy to see beauty in a grocery store. you make me feel weightless and wild. we both cackle at the same stupid joke, and then take a breath at the same time, say oh my god in unison. sleepy on the phone, you whisper: i feel bad for people who don't get to experience what we're experiencing.
you make things feel more real, and i don't know how else to phrase that. you make music tactile, make the sunbeam feel warm. i stumble around like a complete idiot. i can't stop smiling. your hand in mine while you soothe my panic attacks, the freckles on your cheeks while i wipe your tears gently. how you blink up at me, the twist of your mouth while you say something wryly. my life is so full right now. i laugh so much it makes me feel gluttonous, like i'm overindulging in frivolity. i am so stupidly and selfishly and impossibly happy. we both keep saying - you know i'm yours, right? i'm yours entirely.
