love, like fire, goes out without fuel. @haewencrawe - Tumblr Blog

covenkiss

why do i have to find an actual job instead of being the apprentice of the old witch who lives in the woods?

dearherondale

When Emily Brönte said "You said I killed you. Haunt me then."

and when M.L Rio said "Here's the thing about lust: you don't have to like each other. Ever heard of hate sex?"

and when Achilles said “There are no bargains between lion and men. I will kill you and eat you raw.”

and when Oscar Wilde said "Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power."

and when Donna Tartt said "There was a horrible, erratic thumping in my chest, as if a large bird was trapped inside my ribcage and beating itself to death."

?????????

Those are purely raw emotions.

Passion, love, panic, power and death are an insane combination.

spiritusloci

greenisms

Poetry | love and heartbreak from the book “Pillow Thoughts”

beyondstyx

dreamyfilms

emma. (2020, dir. autumn de wilde)

anxietyfroggo

I want to start a literature cult. Read old books, get drunk, summon ghost of Wilde and Edgar and then have an orgy...idk...maybe write some poems

@somethingmissingthings

awrldalone

some things we should start romanticising

bike rides, especially when listening to music. the wind in your hair, the songs in your ears, every sound being quiet and living in your own bubble of lyrics. (edit: in some countries this is illegal and it can be dangerous - i had not thought of that and i apologise)

sitting in a bus. you’re going back home, maybe you’re reading a book or just looking outside of the foggy glass.

making tea. warming up the water, bringing it to a simmer and closing the gas, pouring it into a ceramic mug, the perfume of tea leaves: it’s a ritual.

buying a new book. walking in a book store, reading the first page of a book that sounds interesting, choosing a book because of its cover, never having heard of that book.

reading the last page of a book. that one doctor who episode where the doctor says he rips the last page of each book he reads, reading the last line and feeling like all the air in your lungs is gone.

that one specific moment when you are coming back from a party and you’re walking the few last steps before getting home.

writing your name on a new notebook. scribbling messy letters or trying hard to make it look pretty.

tying shoe laces. where are you even going?

picking a flower. getting off the road and into a patch of grass just to pick a yellow wild flower, pressing it in a book, or putting it in a glass of water.

finally getting to bed. the cold bedsheets, closing your burning eyes, the small sounds of the city.

-c. 23.07.20 6.15pm