poet. reader. 20-something.

"And so it happened again, the daily miracle whereby interiority opens out and brings to bloom the million-petalled flower of being here, in the world, with other people. Neither as hard as she had thought it might be nor as easy as it appeared."

[lifeinpoetry]

You took me to a place where I could see the evil in my character and left me there.

Louise Glück, from “Marina,” Poems 1962-2012 (via aryasnow)

[abrittann]

NESTY THINGS / HILLSIDE SCHOOLHOUSE

[the-bookshop]

Source.

[with-grace-and-guts]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I am all feelings. My emotions are wearing my body thin.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a diary entry featured in “What Lips My Lips Have Kissed; The Loves and Love Poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[hellanne]

I can love only what I can place so high above me that I cannot reach it.

Franz Kafka, from a letter to Max Brod (via aegeane)

[overthink]

[shewasthesun]

[letheane-deactivated20200121]

Even your silence wants to choke me, you who are so abysmally silent.

Friedrich Nietzsche, from ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ (via aegeane)

[sexxaesthetics]

a concept: me, wearing a short velvet dress with a matching velvet collar, my hair perfectly askew as i casually sip a glass of rosé

[serotnin]

me: *suddenly has tears running down cheeks*

ppl: …….are u ok???

me: yeah this just kind of happens sometimes haha ha

[ghostlywriterr]

Louvre. Paris, France. 

[antigonick]

All the soarings of my mind begin in my blood.

Rainer Maria Rilke, in a letter to a young reader (via antigonick)

[goodboydex]

[naiveex]

[chounut]

[imblushy]

ig @isisilvach

[luthienne]

How lush the world is, how full of things that don’t belong to me—

Louise Glück, from Vespers: Parousia (via luthienne)