. h e w n

her throat is, after all, a stamen or matchstick.

[octoberis4loverz]

🍁🍂

[renaissance-art]

Hans Holbein c. 1533

The Ambassadors (detail of the Celestial Globe)

[ofcloudsandstars]

x

[myfairylily]

plumecalligraphy 

[petalier]

[hewn]

Love, they say, enslaves and passion is a demon and many have been lost for love. I know this is true, but I know too that without love we grope the tunnels of our lives and never see the sun. When I fell in love it was as though I looked into a mirror for the first time and saw myself. I lifted my hand in wonderment and felt my cheeks, my neck. This was me. And when I had looked at myself and grown accustomed to who I was, I was not afraid to hate parts of me because I wanted to be worthy of the mirror bearer.

- Jeanette Winterson, The Passion

[darkoctober]

[itwasonce]

Babes in Boyland

[girlyme]

Reading Company (RDG) 4-8-4 steam locomotive 2102 on Mahoning Creek Bridge on the Pittsburg and Shawmut Railway (P&S), near Kittanning, Armstrong County, Pennsylvania, Autumn 1972 (by Ivan S. Abrams)

[horrifying]

by Sasha

[hewn]

I say I’m in love with her. What does that mean?

It means I review my future and my past in the light of this feeling. It is as though I wrote in a foreign language that I am suddenly able to read. Wordlessly, she explains me to myself. Like genius, she is ignorant of what she does.

- Jeanette Winterson, The Passion

[won-der-land89]

[delta-breezes]

Alex | @alex.mazurov

[upthespiralstaircase]

[thealienemily]

ROZA by rrrroza

[hewn]

The Lightbulb Conspiracy

we were astronauts and beekeepers; archaeologists and mechanics; overseas teachers getting drunk off communion wine in a theocratic country with no believers. I was the blowhole in a whale and the trash heap at sea I was a groundbreaking invention hidden under planned obsolescence you were the vitamin C I took daily and the cold I caught anyway you were a ferris wheel showing a child the world at the top we were forks coming off of screaming rivers and diving into sidewalks holding handprints that weren’t ours throwing rotten eggs into ditches because what else would we do with them and what else was there to do? I filled a cracked bucket with jell-o and left it on your porch because I knew you’d know what I meant you painted a face around the hole I punched through the wall because you knew I’d send a picture to my mom we recited mournful monologues on the bruises in our bananas we played pianos with our toes we pinched the sun between our fingers we were lost. we weren’t alone.

Alexis Diano Sikorski

[kellyelainesmith]

© Kelly Smith Photography

source: kellyelainesmith.tumblr.com