✨

but, god, all i ever do is feel

[ojibwa]

[couture-details]

Fall/Winter 2018-19 Balmain

[plumstreet]

WHERE is that poem about that person learning all about their partners hyperfixation before getting dumped the last line is like "love is a stack of books on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end" I need it to feel whole help me please

[cielosky]

NYT Tiny Love Stories, 2/11/2020

A Bookmark Near the End

He loves history. He wanted to write a biography of John Quincy Adams. I, shamefully, knew almost nothing about John Quincy Adams, so I went online and bought every biography of him I could find. One day, he called me, claiming that we wouldn’t work out long term. He said he loved me but that we had different interests. “What does love mean to you?” I said. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. I, however, find love to be quite simple. Love is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end. — Julia Nicole Camp 

[shiika]

Rilakkuma snow sculpture ♡

[seanklingelhoefer]

Portland, OR 2019.

Nikon 35ti | Kodak Gold 200

[soracities]

Paul Eluard, “Seven Poems of Love at War”, Selected Poems (trans. Gilbert Bowen)

[Text ID: “Your eyes were a ship A ship lord of the wind And your eyes were a land Found again in an instant”]

[kvroko]

[mothprincess]

“She opens her arms and hugs me, her airy embrace all fragrant hair and frail bones and elegant fabric. A smell like flowers and burning.”

— Mona Awad, from Bunny

[butterlines]

head in the clouds 

[luthienne]

Gregory Orr, from Poetry as Survival

(transcription below cut)

SURELY, WE WOULD be right to say that trauma is, by definition, among the fiercest and most destructive forms disorder can take. Trauma, either on an intimate or a collective scale, has the power to annihilate the self and shred the web of meanings that supports its existence. And yet, the evidence of lyric poetry is equally clear— deep in the recesses of the human spirit, there is some instinct to rebuild the web of meanings with the same quiet determination we witness in the garden spider as it repairs the threads winds and weather have torn.

[soracities]

e.e. cummings, “i love you much(most beautiful darling)”, from 95 Poems, Complete Poems of E.E. Cummings: 1904-1962

[Text ID: “i love you much(most beautiful darling)

more than anyone on the earth and i like you better than everything in the sky”]

[soracities]

Walt Whitman, from “Answer”, Leaves of Grass

[Text ID: “That you are here – that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”]

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

Yes, yes, moons, lovers, roses—

– Tennessee Williams, from “The Malediction,” Collected Stories (New Directions, 1985)

[the-night-picture-collector]

Babette Mangolte, Annette Michelson’s Bookshelves on the Upper West Side, 1976

[somecutething]

[donotusetheinternet-deactivated]

video description: a tiny, tubby orange and white kitten is rolling around on a patterned blanket. someone approaches him with an appropriately small brush and attempts to groom him, succeeding in brushing his side and tummy but then having to field his clumsy attempts at smacking the brush. he is so cute it is criminal.

[oudandleather]

i just want a boring love. a love that doesn’t need fights or arguments to keep the fire alive. a “let’s sit and read on opposite ends of the sofa” love. an “i thought of you when i was doing the dishes” love. an “i would rather be at home with the love of my life right now” love

[prehistoricmancunt]

“Maybe the desire to make something beautiful/is the piece of God that is inside each of us.”

From ‘Franz Marc’s blue horses’ by Mary Oliver