Flores y Nauseas

"É feia. Mas é uma flor. Furou o asfalto, o tédio, o nojo e o ódio."

[vonkomagno]

[bedelgeuse]

“forgiven” anatomical collage art by Bedelgeuse

[danger]

35/52 | Some Things Just Can’t Be Fixed. by Jared Tyler  

[hype]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

She embraced him, and then, having let go of him, she looked at him and took him again in her arms to kiss him once more, as if she had measured in herself all the love she had or could express,

Albert Camus, from “The First Man,” originally published c. 1994 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[gemsun]

a Lilith in Cancer moodboard

[palavreiro]

Finjo

Finjo que não alimento a saudade

Finjo que não existem lembranças

E que não alimento esperanças,

Finjo que sou louco

Finjo que estou bem

E pouco a pouco me desencontro

Vou fingindo pelos cantos

Canto e componho

Me decompondo

Finjo que estou vivo

Mas no fundo

Nada sobra além de ego

E palavras frágeis em nanquim.

[inc0-mparable]

[clemensclemens]

Hay almas a las que uno tiene ganas de asomarse, como a una ventana llena de sol.

– Federico García Lorca.

[labolaoch0]

“El pasado siempre vuelve”

Ig: labolaoch0

[oxigenio-dapalavra]

Sou mestre na arte de falar em silêncio. Toda a minha vida falei calando-me e vivi em mim mesmo tragédias inteiras sem pronunciar uma palavra.

Fiodor Dostoievski. (via adverbio)

[676893]

Não procure cura aos pés dos que te quebraram.

Rupi Kaur

[sunbathe]

https://www.instagram.com/p/BFPHG2IOzlM/

[maithabdullah]

[lesnmpheas]

[nudied]

checking out all new followers xo

[floresynauseas]

Gallery of life

      What should I do to start loving myself? They have taught me how to smile, to play with my hair, to talk about certain things I know would impress. I’ve been apreciated by a lot of eyes staring at me, like a expansive painting in a museum, thinking they knew me, owned me, creating in their heads the most beautiful meaning of what I am. But nobody ever told me how to gain that shinning eyes myself. How can a painting know it’s own value? Only I know every brushstroke that made me myself. Every mistake covered, the ones I learn to transform into something the buyer woukd like, I didn’t learned how to make them something worth for me. Who could still buy a painting after the artist pointed to them all the fails?

My reflex in the mirror look like a discarded work of the gallery of life.

[floresynauseas]

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