From “Cinéastes de notre temps” Robert Bresson, 1965.
NASA
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
Today's Document

tannertan36
Xuebing Du
sheepfilms

Product Placement

if i look back, i am lost
we're not kids anymore.
Show & Tell
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Keni
No title available

blake kathryn
Mike Driver
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
$LAYYYTER

Discoholic 🪩

pixel skylines

Andulka

seen from Singapore

seen from Malaysia

seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Poland

seen from Ireland
seen from United States

seen from Brazil

seen from United States
seen from Hungary

seen from Thailand
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany

seen from Germany
@natalieerotica
From “Cinéastes de notre temps” Robert Bresson, 1965.
I just created another account to keep crying about not having a girlfriend yet, follow me there if you want 😞
@thesweetesgirlintown
My favorite couple
I just did this
I love all types of women
Nothing has described me better in my life (I used to get good grades in elementary school and high school)
I need a gf
My favorite enemies to lovers
Can we judge Shauna for going crazy after Jackie's death? I mean, look at her
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
Sylvia Plath,The bell Jar.