sunbeams and stars

no need to hurry. no need to sparkle. no need to be anybody but oneself. —v.w.

[malice-bradbury]

there’s something very special about secondhand books. a ghost of a stranger’s hand lurking, their scrawled thoughts remain, some even leave tears and ink, and coffee stains. the whole experience is seemingly intimate. those dog-eared pages, forgotten bookmarks, the remnants of a reader who dreamed. questions surfacing - who held these pages? such is the power of literature: it connects even the most far-off individuals under ideas that compels them to yearn

[heedra]

I’ve Survived Every Bad Day I’ve Ever Had, Motherfucker!!!

[iloveu]

x

[theweirdwideweb]

From the Wikipedia page about the Fermi Paradox: Given the high scientific probability for alien existence, why can we find no evidence of their existence whatsoever?

[othernotebooksareavailable]

A poem about loneliness

[mienar]

commission for @enlasmontanas and @sunnybeam78

instagram | shop | commission info

[rosy-tea]

physically i am here but mentally i am endlessly floating along the astral sea

[angiethewitch]

if you don't live near the sea, have a video of the welsh sea

[especially]

[blossomfully]

In this house, we don’t say “sorry”. We say, “have you eaten yet?” We say, “here, I brought you an orange; a mango; a bowl of lychees”.

Instead of, “I forgive you, I know you meant well,” we accept the fruit with soft eyes; compliment its sweetness, exclaim - “you always pick the best watermelon – how do you just know?” As though there really existed a secret knock you could rat against a rind; to hear its hollowness; to determine the composition of a perfect cantaloupe.

But, when the fruit is gone, or the treason too irresolvable, we apologise for each other: “you know he didn’t mean it.” Then, it is the flitting of remorseful eyes at the dinner table, from the guilty party, which provides non-verbal confirmation of the fact.

The walls of our pride are built so stubbornly high, sometimes I think it would take a homicide to climb them.

In this house, love is subtle. That does not mean it is ever absent. From a young age, I learn to read between the lines. On balance, I think that is a good thing.

Now I know that not everybody communicates in the same way.

I know that sometimes, love sounds like “I am proud of you”; like “I trust you to know what is right”; that it feels like a space to grow; a sandbox to practice falling over in. Other times, it sounds like chemistry lessons at the dining table; like giving up cigarettes; like a drive to the airport at 3am; or working, some nights, until dawn - to pay for your education, then getting up the following morning to make a packed lunch.

Sometimes love does not sound like “sorry” or “I love you”, when those things are too difficult to say.

Sometimes love is just silence and soft eyes. 

Sometimes love is a bowl of fruit.

 Sue Zhao // Bowl of Fruit

[laduree-et-cigarettes]

seriously need some more flower emoji options like where is the orchid? the wisteria? the hydrangea… the pansy… the lily?? fuck

[fluentisonus]

I hate having a ‘‘‘‘‘‘bibliography’’’’’’. is it not enough to write 2500 words of my own totally subjective opinions using only the primary source

[flowerais-deactivated20211031]

claire de lune ♡

[eternalsummer2006]

wish i was attending a small university with ivy creeping over the red brick buildings at which i meet an extremely exclusive group of poets who find me just amusing enough to keep me around and take me out to overindulge under the guise of “finding angels on earth” or “seeking humanity’s truth.” eventually i find the indecipherable unofficial leader having a breakdown (the kiss we share is wrought with homoeroticism but means nothing) and when we graduate we all squeeze into an apartment together but before long it is only me with my typewriter composing deep into the night

[pinkakuma]

@zeewipark 

[flowerais-deactivated20211031]

— Rokelle Lerner, Affirmations for the Inner Child

[sostudyings]

it would be so nice if all i ever wanted & all i ever needed was here, in my arms…

[writhe]

what a day...hiked and played in mud. had a bonfire with a friend and it got deep but in a satisfying & dimensional way. rode my bike home in a cold wind, the smell of smoke clinging to me even after i showered