[peripatetic4]

[peripatetic4]

[peripatetic4]

They say that time's supposed to heal ya but I ain't done much healing

[fabled-lamb]

fuck these “i need to be fucked” posts. I need to be motherfucking kissed. throw me against a wall and kiss me like i’m the love of your goddamn life and you didn’t think you’d ever find me. 

[peripatetic4]

[detailedart]

Van Gogh, nights and blues.

[peripatetic4]

Che tanto è facile abbandonarsi alle onde che si infrangono su di noi

[pussymargiela]

[soft-lovely]

f*ck it, here are some silly pet paintings

[peripatetic4]

[lovelyporridge]

why don’t you read a poem about the sunrise written 5 centuries ago and contemplate the fact that we have been writing about the same sun for centuries upon centuries and then maybe you’ll calm down

[julykings]

from Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder

[saintsebastiensbf]

ur early 20s are about being obsessed with kindness and mary oliver and seasonal fruits and recreating comfort foods you ate as a child and learning how to love and crying because you have no choice but to live the life before you and finding god on the bus back from the grocery store

[peripatetic4]

[ritikajyala]

My brother cracked my rib one morning and gave me half of his orange in the evening.

I remember being younger and sometimes wishing to be a single child, to have all the attention and gifts and time but when he was away from home for the first time, I remember crying and stroking his side of the sofa as if blurting out my first wish- for him to be home, without thinking twice, without a shadow of doubt. Even the genie cried. Growing up with a sibling is like being the only people on a stranded boat, constantly figuring out how you can live with them and questioning how you could ever live without them.

One evening, in a fit of anger, I told him how I never wanted him to be my brother and he yelled that he didn't ask for it either. The air smelled like kerosene and my chest was filled with arsenic. I was raging and threw his favorite toy aeroplane down the window, 7 stories of guilt and shame. He cried all night and I wanted to cut off my right hand, the hand that hurt my baby brother. I didn't know if he was ever going to forgive me or even talk to me. The next morning at breakfast, he didn't look at me or say a word, I felt like my chest was about to explode and guilt clouded my vision. But then, I felt a hand quietly holding half of an orange my way.

The only people on a stranded boat. How do you live with them? How could you ever live without them?

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

[peripatetic4]

2/2

[lssiafb]

Mi fanno ridere e rattristano sempre tantissimo i giorni in cui mi rendo conto della percezione ballerina che ho di me stessa perché se ieri mi piacevo un po’ oggi vorrei solo scomparire e dimenticarmi, solo per un attimo, che esisto

[peripatetic4]

Always thinking Naples