alana 🥀

writer . she/they . south asian . queer . please credit me in reposts

[persephonegirls]

I peel away the sunshine skin gently, trying to pull away one large layer, just for the fun of it. I give you one half and I tell you how oranges are a symbol of love. How it's made to be shared with the one you love. How the half I just gave you is a part of me and I hope it’s sweet. You just swallow it whole like a hungry child. You rip your teeth into it like a vexed God.  You stab holes into it and crush it with your hands so carelessly. It’s immediate death.   You say, it's just an orange, it doesn’t mean much.  I stroke my hand, tender hues of violet and indigo blooming on my sun-kissed skin. Yeah, it doesn’t mean much, I reply as I chew my half of the orange. It tastes rotten on my tongue.

[persephonegirls]

It's November and I feel a melody of longing brush my heart with an aching touch.

[persephonegirls]

You intertwine your fingers with mine, maybe intended as a friendly hold but I could feel my hand burn. As if scarlet flames licked my skin with a tender caress. You lean into me, whispering an innocent sentence into my ear but I’m drowning in the aroma of the sweet orange blossom that surrounds you. No one except me could hear the sharp crack of my ribs. A burst of saccharine florals sprouted from my lungs and broke through my bones, my affection for you that made them grow, gave them an indestructible structure. They could break through anything but I couldn’t even breathe near you. The scent was such a strong one, one that evoked the most forbidden memory from the deepest crevices of my mind. A melody of longing brushed my heart with a gentle touch. Your figure under the dulcet apricus touch of the honeydew sun. You looked at me and I could feel the world spinning. Your eyes reminded me of melting pools kissed by the amber light. A dance of caramel and mahogany. The salty breeze passed us by, rustling the leaves and flowing your hair. You looked like a vision of pulchritude. A blend of hydrangeas blues and crimson orchids that had elicited a feeling so haunting. An eldritch realization that a pagan like me could worship a sight like this. But that was a tender admission that I would never confess. One that is meant to get stuck in my throat, your name etched on the walls like a swallowed secret.

-by Alana Adler

[rosymemoirs]

claude monet's art twitter headers

♡ and reblog if you save / use

header 1 – the water lily pond (1899) by claude monet

header 2 - the poppy field near argenteuil (1873) by claude monet

header 3 - cliff walk at pourville (1882) by claude monet

header 4 - path through the corn at pourville (1882) by claude monet

header 5 - water lilies (1916) by claude monet

header 5 - water lilies (1916) by claude monet

header 6 - the garden of monet at argenteuil (1873) by claude monet

header 7 - tulip fields (1886) by claude monet

header 8 - by the river at vernon (1883) by claude monet

header 9 - the mount riboudet in rouen at spring (1872) by claude monet

header 10 - windmills near zaandam (1871) by claude monet

[persephonegirls]

Using swirls of gold daffodil and turquoise hydrangea, she traced her hand down his spine and leaving pink asters, purple wisterias, and blue violets in her wake. Her dilettante attempt at recreating Monet's Gardens on his body with bruised brushstrokes could be the most serene touch of comfort. Just like Monet, she could use simple soft blooms that could be ripped with her jagged teeth instead of fancy bouquets to highlight his moon-carved bones and gold ichor-kissed skin.

- Alana Adler

[odeysseus]

cherry : preview / download

this is a two-column sidebar theme with up to five custom links and an optional updates section with space for three updates. font, font size & post width are customisable, tags & scroll to top are optional, and you can choose between infinite scroll, manual load or regular pagination. 

[persephonegirls]

There is something about the way emotions have enough power to take over your being. It's devastating and remarkable how an event can trigger an emotion, good or bad and have the power to rewrite your life. As you left me stranded on my front porch, grief chiseled your shape onto my heart. There was something so sweet and bright about you, molten honey and crushed honeycomb. I know that time and love will heal our separation but I fear that when you left, all the suns of my life crumbled down to the earth. Sweet sweet boy, you left a trail of fire in your awake and I fear that I'm willing to burn in it, just to feel your gentle caress one last time in the form of the tender flames licking my skin.

Sweet sweet boy, how can I let you go when you left tangling your soul with mine and walked away with my heart in your hand?

- alana, excerpt from Youth’s Lament

[persephonegirls]

what do you think love is?

i could feel your skin pressed flush against mine. tangled between the twisted bedsheets, you locked my feet with yours, knowing how easily mine got cold. "what do you think love is?" you asked, curiosity bubbling within you like a wide-eyed child. i paused, my finger stopping on your chest where it was drawing shapes a while ago. invisible chalk paintings on the dermis sidewalk. i'm young. still in college, having only consumed drunken one-night stands and brief summer loves these past few years. you were the only exception, walking into my life with a boyish grin and a soft mess of curls for hair. i could tell you were my idea of love. car rides to the 7-eleven to get slurpee. kisses shared at the peak of rockland. when we made mac n cheese during the dead of the night, under the golden kitchen lights. that pout on your lips that i kissed obnoxiously when you spilled some on your pants. the sweet smile you gave me in return, much like the one you were giving me now. i hummed, seeking comfort further into your embrace. "you." i mumbled lowly. "what we have." i was frozen for a moment, waiting for your response before sighing in relief when you pressed your lips against my head, your smile now much softer and your eyes glazed with affection.

- BY ALANA