【In the palm of your hand】.
.
すぐにこのタイトルが浮かんだ
今朝は感覚が澄んでいる
With a clear head.
.
Keni

roma★

JBB: An Artblog!
Three Goblin Art
Sade Olutola
taylor price
RMH
Sweet Seals For You, Always
occasionally subtle

pixel skylines

Kaledo Art
Cosmic Funnies
Peter Solarz
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
DEAR READER
$LAYYYTER
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

shark vs the universe
No title available
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
seen from Argentina

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Australia
seen from Greece

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Oman

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from India
seen from Australia

seen from Romania

seen from United States

seen from France

seen from Chile

seen from France
seen from United States
seen from T1

seen from Mexico
seen from Malaysia
@numbfuse
【In the palm of your hand】.
.
すぐにこのタイトルが浮かんだ
今朝は感覚が澄んでいる
With a clear head.
.
eternal silence, infinite spaces
perhaps like the setting sun, you now have a hold of my heart
“…through a world weightless, without illusion.”
Rohtas Fort, October 2017
Rohtas Fort, October 2017
without your memory
“my darling, how are you? how have you been lately?”
1) Gillyflower
2) Red Buttercups ( Ranuculus )
3) Passion Flower
4) Memorial Day Poppy
5) Aster
6) Lilium convallium
7) Hibiscus
8) Calla Lily
9) Peony
10) Anemone
From Hortvs, nitidissimis omnem per annvm svperbiens floribvs 1768 - 1786
by Christoph Jacob Trew (1695-1769). Illustrations Georg Dionysius Ehret (1708-1770).
Images and text courtesy NYPL Digital Collection.
Fall? Fall.
Zhang Yidan
2017
8:40am // On my way to school, one of the best bike rides I’ve ever had!
all the blues
Portrait of Fatima November 2014 Mazzy Star-Give You My Lovin’ Amna Babar
Song of the Crimson Rebellion- a photo series A trail of crimson flows through the crowd. The only rose that has dared to dance with the wind. The men, they look straight at her, they feel no shame. Their blood boils, their desires peak. They jump to pluck but the thorns pierce the calloused fingertips; drip drip drip. Palms now stained with blood. The women, they look away, they spy from the corner of their eyes and whisper to one another, “I wish my existence could be as bold.” She stops for no one. She cannot be claimed by anyone. Crimson, flows the blood in her veins; crimson, the smear on her lips, her kurti, her chaddar. Crimson, the color of her defiance The ‘chan chan’ of her anklet echoes to miles away, almost like a siren. She has not come to preach. She has not come to shame. She has, but only, come to liberate; for she sings a song that cannot be unheard. She sings the song of the crimson rebellion.