Sentience
is a clockwork hubbub, grinding
ruts of cogs
and hummed trills
of pulse and marrow; tea swirls
tacitly in its mug, revelatory,
and it's humid.
— Anna S.© 2026
Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du
No title available

No title available
taylor price

No title available
todays bird
h
$LAYYYTER
No title available

Product Placement

ellievsbear
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

pixel skylines

JBB: An Artblog!
NASA

Love Begins

oozey mess
cherry valley forever
we're not kids anymore.
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from China

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Africa

seen from Malta
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Hong Kong SAR China

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Netherlands

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Czechia

seen from Netherlands

seen from Netherlands
@lorienfae
Sentience
is a clockwork hubbub, grinding
ruts of cogs
and hummed trills
of pulse and marrow; tea swirls
tacitly in its mug, revelatory,
and it's humid.
— Anna S.© 2026
There are slivers of us, echoes in parallel universes, in one, or many, we've met
and your arms feel so safe —
an inflorescence that is a home, in each other.
— Anna S. © 2026
Phantasmagoric pareidolia scriptured in bokeh of dusk and layers of gray, little smiles filtering through
the puddles talk
mockingbird cantillates its timely fashion, the citadel of silence crumbling
— hark! I am awake and uncloaked, minutes chastened by petrichor
and fleeting salvation.
— Anna S. © 2026
Adrift is the aural hum weaving in with the fog, haunt is the definition of this place...
forgetfulness sifting fingerprints over the trees, they whisper...
they whisper...
douglas firs so stern, echoes lie unsilent and reveries run amok,
what is a raindrop but a game of mirrors, a portal in a funhouse, a carousel that juggles the worlds.
There is a humming in the air, there is a humming
in the air.
— Anna S. © 2026
Mist hangs over morning, mourning
minutes that are dust, and
we are souls of rebirth;
horde of tadpoles blooms
in the shallows, silently
they sing of life, synonymous
with our own human
transmogrification.
Heartbeat turns inflorescent
in these psychedelic dreams.
— Anna S. © 2026
This one's for you. Maybe one day
you'll read it, and
maybe you won't. Life
after all
is such an origami of moments, a magazine
of film photos
with a partially missing page
— it made it in a scrapbook somewhere,
or a diary, or a letter
someone wrote their partner,
you know the type, a travel memento
with many "I miss you's"
and the fluttery written hugs.
It
says "feelings" and "vulnerable"
and "heart upon a sleeve",
the kind of carelessness
love flowed in
somewhere in lazy summer days,
mixtapes, and ice cream
by a fountain, cuddling on a bench
as some kids chase soap bubbles
in a park...
It all sounds so easy, natural,
but it's really a dream
that comes while staring at raindrops
at a window, wondering
where you might be
and if you are blowing soap bubbles
aimlessly into the air
and listening to a vintage tape,
and, thinking
something equally romantically whimsical
about me.
— Anna S. 2026
Phantasmagoria
in a candle flame, sputtering, flittering
— encanting, calling to
breathe me in
like rainwater into skin, silence
dripped
from the endlessness of days.
— Anna S. © 2026
Wing-tales in the sky, the air, the surface of water undulated by the wind,
ridges rippling in conversation, an unknown tongue
that rushes and exults in a frenzied waltz across sentience...
I forget how to be...
in all the white noise we've unlearned how to comprehend the language of feathers,
hours becoming crusty with idle, incessant blur,
but I want to remember, I want to believe,
and I reach for it now, following the wind following the wings.
— Anna S. © 2026
Sun glaze over Plumeria petals, gold mingling with gold, dappled smiles...
they told me to mourn and accept the aloneness, yet I believe hope has a right to kindle on my counter like the candle I light up as I have dinner on my balcony —
it might be a simple candle, a flickering of faith as evening-fall dances around me, yet I choose to still believe
in you.
— Anna S. © 2026
Brevity blooming across the mist-filled echo, a pulse of heart-song — in petrichor, our senses reach a lilting transcendence.
— Anna S. © 2026 (attempt at a tanka)
Heart, in the leaf- shape, beckoning to awaken as sensate; I drape dreams across breath, a'twirl among carousels of stars, as strewn pareidolia whispers tales of ordinary noise in extraordinariness of existence.
— Anna S. © 2026
rain and I on the terrace, sipping coffee and exchanging thoughts; it drips company into my minutes, patterned with a hum of a radiator, a distant plane, and occasional notes of bird chirps. Breeze wraps its arms over my shoulders, softly, like love.
— Anna S. © 2026
Casting shadows into a well of infinity, hunters yodel for daybreak, their wraithlike form silhouetting against dreams
and the liminal sight 'tween awake and slumber corrals in answers —
yet they are cyphers in any other form and when we walk into discernment, that wakefulness bears upon its back, they have once more receded to untranslation...
slanted cello strings unravel the universe, chords twisting and entwining around the stars, pleading to reform the magnum opus, the haloed glow of aurorae over once-waltzing Pangaea as she rapt-hummed her children moonlit lulabies and moss sonnets...
Don't we all dream?
Dreams of dreams of binary codes and sonar pulse, and stars! Twinkling and riding chariots into endlessness of hope, Auriga and Orion, and the Pleiades all in a song —
infinite, lyrics writ by x- and y-axis converging eternally, racing to reveal
the secret to everything.
— Anna S. © 2026
Superstitions fade into foggy mornings
and breath simply
flows, both astute
and willowy against the minutes
once, we were lost in space
now, we echo coordinates
untethered
and released to the tides
just being
believing
flowing.
— Anna S. © 2026
Solace on the wings of a breath, a vast, sprawling
field of
emotion, each glass blade — a thought rippled by able wind, like minds ripple
'neath the weight of life.
— Anna S. © 2026
Moonlight filters through night's able fingers, romancing me via cello weaving in and out of dreams
or a strum of acoustic guitar, sexy and suave...
you wander, barefoot, under the midnight sky, haunted by the sway of a minute...
slow-dance with me instead, as Brandon Boyd's "Petrichor" scatters its audial raindrops over our senses...
— Anna S. © 2026
Hush...
there's a whole vast universe in that one breath you've held in for so long, it haunts the minute, and yet
you are oceanwater undulating your wave emotions, your tides reaching and falling
across time's expanse, rising and falling of your chest
as you sleep.
— Anna S. © 2026