honey with jasmine

olive skin / soft dreams / wild heart

[free-my-mindd]

[loubis-and-champagne]

X

[aaaangel444]

[l1amaani]

[loubis-and-champagne]

X

[ancientorigins]

Ottoman-era (13th – 20th c.) birdhouses that show how much Turkish people loved birds. In Turkey, the birdhouses were affixed to the outer walls of significant city structures, such as mosques, inns, bridges, libraries, schools and fountains. Not only did they provide the birds with shelter, these structures also fulfilled a religious purpose – they were believed to grant good deeds to those who built them.

[vintague-blog]

The fisherman and the syren (detail) - by Lord Frederick Leighton

[rarestsparkle]

You don’t need to prove your light. Just be it. The most radiant souls are not performing, they are simply remembering. And in their presence, others feel safe enough to remember too. Radiance is not show. It’s soul made visible.

[dreamyvixen]

dreaming_eli

[zagrebinaa]

[highvictoriana-blog]

Lace hand fan, c. 1880-1900. Courtesy of El Museo Nacional de Artes Decorativas, Spain.

[flickrhorses]

wild horses

[aidashakur]

[roserosette]

Cecilia, 1982, Humberto Solas

[celebrateeachnewday]

Artist Jane Crowther

[duskissed]

mexicanfaerie

[vangoghcore]

by Wolkmar Ventzel

[lunamonchtuna]

to be seen without performing. to be heard without screaming. to be missed without disappearing. to be enough without proving it. to be held without falling apart. to be understood without explaining. to be wanted without conditions. to be. to be.

[kartikandgemma]

“When I dream, I dream of him. For several nights now he’s come to me, waving from a distant shore as if he’s been waiting patiently for me to arrive. He doesn’t utter a word, but his smile says everything. How are you? I’ve missed you. Yes, all is well. Don’t worry. Where he stands, the trees are in full bloom, brilliant with flowers of every color imaginable. Parts of the ground are still scorched and rocky. There are hard, bald patches where nothing may ever grow again. It is hard to tell. But in other spots, tiny green shoots struggle their way up. Rich black dirt smooths over the surface of things. The earth heals itself. Kartik takes a stick and digs in the soft, new soil. He’s making something but I cannot tell what it is yet. The clouds shift. Shafts of sunlight peek through, and now I can see what he has drawn. It is a symbol: two hands interlocked, surrounded by a perfect, unbroken circle. Love. The day is breaking free. It bathes everything in a fierce light. Kartik is fading from view. No, I call. Come back. I’m here, he says. But I can’t see. It’s too bright. You can’t hold back the light, Gemma. I’m here. Trust me. The water washes over the riverbank, erasing the edges till there’s nothing. But I saw it. I know it’s there. And when I wake, the room is white with the morning sun. The light is so bright it hurts my eyes. But I don’t dare close them. I won’t. Instead, I try to adjust to the dawn, letting the tears fall where they may, because it is morning; it is morning, and there is so much to see.”

—

The Sweet Far Thing by Libba Bray

*cries*

(via fuckyeahgemmadoyletrilogy)

[jasminblossoms]

Made me cry so hard. What the hell.