art blog(derogatory)
RMH

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★
$LAYYYTER

oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Janaina Medeiros
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tumblr dot com
Today's Document

titsay

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Misplaced Lens Cap
Peter Solarz
d e v o n
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Origami Around
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

shark vs the universe
seen from Germany
seen from Portugal

seen from United Arab Emirates

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 United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from Colombia
seen from Chile
@flawsomebuttercup
I am good. I am loved.
I drew an animation based on a piece by @malatalia_
Stills dyed in indigo using the katazome method by @malatalia_
Counting sheep or counting stars,
Off to dreamland, no matter how far!
_stubborn.buttercup_
two deer moving through the forest
13 GOING ON 30 (2004) dir. Gary Winick
weheartit
Bonne nuit
9pm. Just as I stepped out of bathroom, the house plunged into darkness. The fan whirred to a halt, its cool breeze replaced by a stifling silence. Outside, my neighbors huddled together, voices rising in a chorus of complaints about the heat and the outage. Sweat dripped down my back like a never-ending summer rain. It was just another April day in this city, a place where the heat was as constant a companion as the memories held within these walls.
_stubborn.buttercup_
Hope 🌱
The sun, a tyrant on his brazen throne,
Melts the world to a shimmering, sticky moan.
Ice surrenders, a tear upon the cheek,
Metal sizzles, concrete starts to shriek.
This fiery breath, a furnace unleashed,
Burns the very air, a torment unleashed.
Yet, in this crucible, a curious thing,
My soul finds solace, on sorrow's burnt wing.
_stubborn.buttercup_
(via GIPHY)
The world spins on,
demanding its due.
Bills beckon,
life churns.
But
Right now, all I crave is a hibernation button, a deep slumber that skips straight to tomorrow, or maybe even . . . next life.
_stubborn.buttercup_
‘Keeping Warm’ by Sydney Mortimer Laurence, c. 1921.
“Le temps, c'est un peu comme le vent. Le vent, on ne le voit pas : on voit les branches qu'il remue, la poussière qu'il soulève. Mais le vent lui-même, personne ne l'a vu.” 🌬
Jean-Claude Carrière
Gif de Nancy Liang
blooming meadow, crayon + digital
Today, the air hung heavy with grief. My friend, whom I hadn't seen in a decade, stood beside a freshly turned grave, her mother laid to rest six feet below. The funeral and the following week of mourning rituals were a blur of shared sorrow. My friend confided in me that with these traditions complete, she might not return to Vietnam for another ten years. Her mother, she explained, was the anchor that always drew her back home. For years, she had poured everything she had into caring for her mother. She emptied her savings, even quit her job abroad to spend the final three months by her side, holding her hand as she drew her last breath. A bittersweet smile touched her lips as she admitted relief in accompanying her mother on this final journey. Yet, a lifetime dedicated to care came at a cost. At 40, she owned no house, a stark reminder of the sacrifices made. A sigh escaped her, revealing the loneliness of her life abroad. She juggled laughter, tears, and hardship alone, fiercely independent, unwilling to burden others. Friendships existed, but the hollowness within remained. Gently, I encouraged her to embrace vulnerability. Accepting help, even small gestures, isn't a burden, but a way to express and receive love. We sat there in silence. Her eyes, though dry, spoke volumes. The brokenness within, the fear of navigating life without her mother's warmth, was palpable. In the depths of sorrow, tears sometimes run dry. Despite the time spent apart, the years melted away when we reconnected. It felt like we'd picked up right where we left off. As I prepared to leave, her voice surprised me. "Would you visit me? My home is always open" she asked a flicker of hope in her eyes. "Can we meet again before I go?" "Absolutely," I said. "Let's meet again. And guess what? I can't wait for next year. I'll come visit you then."
_stubborn.buttercup_