I really am just living for the hope of it all
DEAR READER
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
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Sade Olutola

#extradirty
$LAYYYTER
YOU ARE THE REASON

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pixel skylines
KIROKAZE
wallacepolsom

roma★
Jules of Nature
Peter Solarz
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

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NASA
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
we're not kids anymore.
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@insignificantworries
I really am just living for the hope of it all
just saw this personal ad from 1966 (sourced here) and god. this is really it
Kate Chopin, from The Awakening
Coming to Writing, Hélène Cixous
Barbara Crooker, “Red Amaryllis”
summer book club
silence in the shadow hours
calmness of seclusion
liberated mind
in unstructured space
thoughts echo off walls
biased observer with no opposition
creates truth in a hollow cathedral
Passionate— that’s the word they hand me when I spill over the edges.
I notice when others do, too, when their laughter is louder than the room, when their feelings arrive before their words.
Yet when it is me, I do not know how to bite my tongue while I am busy making someone laugh.
I hope they understand my theatrics— not as a performance, but as evidence.
Evidence that I care enough to be silly, to stretch a story, to gesture with my whole body, to get the point across, to be heard.
I am only trying to leave joy on someone else’s face.
To earn a smile through effort. To make someone feel understood through action. To be vulnerable enough to participate in this strange human existence without constantly negotiating the possibility of judgment.
To be perceived with understanding—
that is what I give, and what I hope to receive.
Yet when I wish upon a star, I am told I am passionate, the word arriving through a condescending tongue. And it is not the first time.
Lovers have used it before, holding the word between us like a compliment with a warning hidden inside. Passionate. Too much.
I see it in others and never think to resent them for it. So why is it so difficult to imagine it could be me?
I am only trying to be myself— relatable, unguarded, with nothing to prove.
Cesar Philipp (German, 1859 - 1930) - Allegory of Spring detail
I am a big fan of the work of Okamoto Hajime.
— Maya C. Popa, Wound is the Origin of Wonder: Poems: “All inner life runs at some delay” (via letsbelonelytogetherr)
— Mary Kate Teske