#when someone suddenly turns off the music (while you were singing to it)
todays bird
Jules of Nature

⁂

ellievsbear
Sade Olutola

izzy's playlists!
wallacepolsom
Today's Document
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.
cherry valley forever

Product Placement

pixel skylines
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
RMH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

roma★
One Nice Bug Per Day
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

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@kowalsky
#when someone suddenly turns off the music (while you were singing to it)
villanelle + her hands in her pockets
Like an electrified city, she writes her tune, in cursive, all over my body— don’t blink, so you can walk wearing nothing but flame.
— Nathalie Handal, from “Ta’bien Negra,” published in Prairie Schooner
House in the Dune Grass, Ballston Beach, Truro, Massachusetts, 1987. Joel Meyerowitz. Dye coupler
Every life is many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves.
James Joyce, Ulysses (via theclassicsreader)
A strong contender for tweet of the year, already.
okay wow
Sinnamon roll
The Field of WheatMedium: oil,canvas
https://www.wikiart.org/en/ivan-shishkin/the-field-of-wheat-1878
Zach Quinto Was Busted for His Fake Starbucks Name
azul breath
hot creek geological site, mono county, california
Alena Aenami aka Alena Velichko aka Алёна Величко (Ukrainian, b. Zaporizhia, Ukraine) - 1: Sketches 002, 2017 2: Dreamer, 2018 3: Sketches 003, 2018 4: Any Minute Now, 2016 5: Eclipse, 2017 6: Sketches 001, 2016 7: Sketches, 2016 Digital Arts: Paintings Instagram Facebook
You don’t want to hear the story of my life, and anyway I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen to the enormous waterfalls of the sun. And anyway it’s the same old story— a few people just trying, one way or another, to survive. Mostly, I want to be kind.
Mary Oliver, from New and Selected Poems (via pigmenting)
We are the skeletons in our closets. We set ourselves on fire for the things we can no longer say.
— Karese Burrows, from “A Brief Story about Love,” This Is How We Lost Each Other
Postcards from the edge, Laurent Rosset
The first time I heard my name in your mouth, the ground felt like a language I haven’t spoken in years. I forgot everything I knew about gravity.
Rudy Francisco, “Gravity” (via wildfairy)
I’m learning so many different ways to be quiet. There’s how I stand in the lawn, that’s one way. There’s also how I stand in the field across from the street, that’s another way because I’m farther from people and therefore more likely to be alone. There’s how I don’t answer the phone, and how I sometimes like to lie down on the floor in the kitchen and pretend I’m not home when people knock. There’s daytime silent when I stare, and a nighttime silent when I do things. There’s shower silent and bath silent and California silent and Kentucky silent and car silent and then there’s the silence that comes back, a million times bigger than me, sneaks into my bones and wails and wails and wails until I can’t be quiet anymore. That’s how this machine works.
Ada Limón, “The Quiet Machine” in Bright Dead Things (via pigmenting)