[intactics-deactivated20211231]

how do you think you can tell if you're in love?

the arrow in your heart

[tigeristired]

i think 'I trust you with my life but not your own' as a trope is one of the ones that can always fuck me up no matter what

[marvellouslymadmim]

"I trust you with my life because you are good and kind and noble--I know you will not hesitate to do everything in your power to save me.

I do not trust you with your own life because you are good and kind and noble--I know you would not hesitate to sacrifice yourself to save me."

THAT is where it's at!!!!!

[soracities]

how will love find me?

stop hiding and open ur arms

[oiseauroi]

marina tsetaeva trans by ilya kaminsky

[typewriter-worries]

[ Text ID: A kiss on the forehead -- erases misery. / I kiss your forehead. ]

[angelicdewdrop]

[dct239394cvvd098dffgggp]

i love being told everything btw. if i love you and youre talking to me not a single detail is too much. youll never overestimate how much of the fabric of your day to day i want to hold in my hands and know the model and make of. im Everything Matters girl and everything matters to me

[sunsbleeding]

[tethered-heartstrings]

[glowcowboy]

holding my own face in my own hands and screaming “there is no connection without an open heart! you must be brave! you must be honest! you must be true!” in the mirror

[yourgothmom]

Ok but hear me out...

What if I'm scared?

[glowcowboy]

do it scared

[typewriter-worries]

blood test came back positive for full of love

[catastrofewaitress]

[holespoles]

Who else loves writing letters? Wouldn't it be nice to have a pen pal? (art by Richard Scarry)

[julykings]

from Tiny Beautiful Things, adapted for the stage by Nia Vardalos. 

[linusquotes]

— John Steinbeck, East of Eden ,1952

Linus Quotes

[oiseauroi]

marina tsetaeva trans by ilya kaminsky

[typewriter-worries]

[ Text ID: A kiss on the forehead -- erases misery. / I kiss your forehead. ]

[iampoetnotarockstar-deactivated]

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, from Aurora Leigh, 1856.  

Source:histoire-d-elle

[beguines]

In those days I could fold the sky up and store it in a closet. With every heave of my chest the universe seemed to expand. In those days the rope of the moon floating on the surface of the water was a kind of hope. I hardly noticed the bird’s song limping from its broken nest, hardly noticed the last star struggling against the dawn until the sun betrayed it. Why do we notice so little? Does the river suffer when you plunge your hand into it? Does the wind suffer when it snags itself on a branch? Maybe that’s why we close our eyes to kiss. I think each night was just the bandage I used to cover the deep cuts of His words. Don’t turn away. Don’t imagine you know the story. Our lives are just dreams someone sold to the highest bidder. I thought my own words could trample the stars. I thought my name would nest in the future and take flight. But there was only that dusk of blackbirds. It’s all just Fate settling like dust in the attics of our deeds.

Richard Jackson, from “The Apology of Judas”, Resonance