orbiting around the sun

... he cried out, in his anger and his shame, "I am leaving, I am leaving," but the fighter still remains.

[lovecrumbss]

Details : Dancing Fairies by August Malmström 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

[derangedrhythms]

This very second has vanished forever, lost in the anonymous mass of the irrevocable. It will never return. I suffer from this, and I do not. Everything is unique—and insignificant.

E. M. Cioran, The Trouble With Being Born, tr. Richard Howard

[armenotti]

Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.

“Bone Burying” by Andrea Gibson

[dk-thrive]

“Notice what arises. Come back to the breath.” Come back, breath. What’s wrong with me? How bloody hard can it be to centre? Why am I always trying to escape? What would I be trying to escape? Vestiges of the self. The inadequate self.”

— Jillian Horton, We Are All Perfectly Fine: A Memoir of Love, Medicine and Healing (HarperCollins Publishers, February 23, 2021) 

[suonko]

by Józef Mehoffer

[bungalowclassic]

[luthienne]

Elena Ferrante, from Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay (translated from the Italian by Ann Goldstein)

[Text ID: maybe, in the face of abandonment, we are all the same; maybe not even a very orderly mind can endure the discovery of not being loved.]

[metamorphesque]

― Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra

[lelaid]

Marlene Dietrich in Schiaparelli by William Walling, 1934

[armenotti]

It doesn’t always matter where we are but here I am and I say hello, sitting next to you this time, just pretend I’m sitting next to you this time. You would like it here. Maybe you would like it here. I think that maybe you would like it here.

Richard Siken, The Long and Short of It

[paper-fairy]

“Here I came to the very edge where nothing at all needs saying, everything is absorbed through weather and the sea, and the moon swam back, its rays all silvered, and time and again the darkness would be broken by the crash of a wave, and every day on the balcony of the sea, wings open, fire is born, and everything is blue again like morning.”

— Pablo Neruda, It is Born 

[huariqueje]

A Lady with a bunch of Sweet Williams  -   Mary Newcomb , 1988.

British  1922-2008

Oil on board

[thekingprincess]

Goddess of the Sea

[chanelbagsandcigarettedrags]

[chanelbagsandcigarettedrags]

[theparisianscent]

[savagedefectives]

anne carson