I call her solitude

Things I like and make me fall in love with humanity. 🦋 I also journal and I'm looking for pen-pals!

[mournfulroses]

Margaret Atwood, from an essay featured in "In Other Worlds," originally published in 2011

[metamorphesque]

— I Can Give Myself To Her, Yosano Akiko

[smoothoperatorleclerc]

~ starry

[metamorphesque]

the unbearable heaviness of girlhood / Su Xinyu / Lucie Brock-Broido

[primulaceas]

Berthe Morisot, The Artist's Sister at a Window (1869), The Reading (1869–1870), The Cradle (1872), The Psyche Mirror (1876)

[metamorphesque]

🍂 september poems 🍂

September 1913, William Butler Yeats

The Imprint of September Second, Ethan Gilsdorf

September, Joanne Kyger

Drowning in September, Eric Pfeiffer 

September, H Stuart

September Tomatoes, Karina Borowicz

One September Night, Franco Fortini

September Sunday, Lucille Broderson

September, 1918, Amy Lowell

September Midnight, Sara Teasdale

Monday, September 25, 2006, Susan Schultz

One September Afternoon, Leo Dangel

[lucretia-borgia]

Rupi Kaur. Mind.

[lucretia-borgia]

Richard Siken. Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out

[primulaceas]

Leonora Carrington, The Hearing Trumpet

[lucretia-borgia]

Richard Siken. Scheherazade

[lucretia-borgia]

Two lovers went to a museum and wandered the rooms. He saw a painting and stood in front of it for too long. It was a few minutes before she realized he had gotten stuck. He was stuck looking at a painting. She stood next to him, looking at his face and then the face in the painting. What do you see? she asked. I don't know, he said. He didn't know. She was disappointed, then bored. He was looking at a face and she was looking at her watch. This is where everything changed. There was now a distance between them. He was looking at a face but it might as well have been a cabbage or a sugar beet. Perhaps it was something about yellow near pink. He didn't know how to say it. Years later he still didn't know how to say it, and she was gone

Richard Siken. The Museum.

[lucretia-borgia]

[lucretia-borgia]

Franz Kafka. Letters to Milena.

[tangledupblue]

The truth is I am an unlucky honest man, that speak my sentiments to all and with emphasis. I say this to you because you know it and will not charge me with vanity. I hate Congress—I hate the army—I hate the world—I hate myself. The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you and Meade. Adieu

From Alexander Hamilton to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, [12 September 1780]

[lockscreenhis]

monet art.

like or reblog if u save it

[weltenwellen]

Kaveh Akbar, from “Personal Inventory: Fearless (Temporis Fila)”, Calling a Wolf a Wolf 

[typodescript]

[text: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This may be me at my best.]

[lucretia-borgia]

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. Suzanne Collins