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Today's Document
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Love Begins
YOU ARE THE REASON
d e v o n

@theartofmadeline
occasionally subtle

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@novaltyyyyyyyyy
— David Foster Wallace
been thinking a lot about anticipatory grief lately. i love you so much that i know losing you will devastate me. i haven't lost you yet but i already miss you. we still have time, but it won't be enough. i think about what i would say at your funeral, and say some of it to you now cause i need you to know how loved you are before you go. you will go where i cannot follow, but you will never really leave me. it won't make it hurt less but it is a part of healing somehow.
THE LADY: But green is the colour of earth, of living things, of life. We deck our halls with it and dye our linen. But should it come creeping up the cobbles we scrub it out as fast as we can. When it blooms beneath our skin we bleed it out and when we, together all, find that our reach has exceeded our grasp, we cut it down. We stamp it out, we spread ourselves atop it and smother it beneath our bellies, but it comes back. It does not dally, nor does it wait to plot or conspire. Pull it out by the roots one day and then next there it is, creeping in around the edges. Whilst were’ off looking for red, here comes green. Red is the colour of lust, but green is what lust leaves behind. In heart, in womb. Green is what is left when ardor fades, when passion dies and we die too. When you go your footprints will fill with grass, moss shall cover your tombstone and as the sun rises, green shall spread over all in its shades and hues. This verdigris will overtake your swords, and your coins and your battlements and try as you might all you hold dear will succumb to it. Your skin, your bones. Your virtue.
—David Lowery, The Green Knight
– Noor Unnahar, Instagram account "noor_unnahar"
[TEXT ID: / [Lemons] / My father's mother loved lemons. Years after her passing, / we run out of everything, but never / lemons. / Nothing else shelters grief / better than memory. / It's my father way of saying, / even in your absence, you will be / cared by me. / END ID]
Salvatore Postiglione (1861–1906), Dante and Beatrice
Le pacte des loups _______ Émilie Dequenne, Karin Kriström, Virginie Darmon, Monica Bellucci
Oh, I'm burning! I wish I were out of doors—I wish I were a girl again, half-savage, and hardy, and free.
—Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
Trumpeter Swans. By M. Wheelock, 2014
Yasujiro Ozu
You really can just reinvent yourself at any time. There are no rules!