[poeticrose]

“This done, I lingered yet a little longer: the flowers smelt so sweet as the dew fell; it was such a pleasant evening, so serene, so warm; the still glowing.”

— Charlotte Brontë, from “Jane Eyre.”

[beingharsh]

"Gardening with the Son I Will Never Have", Ocean Vuong, Burnings

[scottishstoner]

drop dead - olivia rodrigo (taken that eurostar to france) spotify music video

[perfectfeelings]

“The saddest truth is realising you have fallen madly in love with what can never be.”

— Michael Faudet

[vanilllagirlss]

[apoemaday]

Crepuscule

by E.E. Cummings

i will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness in the sleeping curves of my body Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery with chasteness of sea-girls Will i complete the mystery of my flesh I will rise After a thousand years lipping flowers And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

[pink-dvrkness]

pink winter mood board

[birthdaylobotomy]

i need more flowers in my life, more natural sweetness. not overly sugary candies and fake perfumes but like…. the scent of a wild field, or rich green forests after a chilled rain, of powerful-tasting fruit and golden lemonade. waiting for the way my life is fresh and real again.

[apoemaday]

The plum you're going to eat next summer

by Gayle Brandeis

The plum you’re going to eat next summer doesn’t exist yet; its potential lives inside a tree you’ll never see in an orchard you’ll never see, will be touched by a certain number of water droplets before it reaches you, by certain angles of light, by a finite amount of bugs and dust motes and hands you’ll never know. The plum you are going to eat next summer will gather sugar, gather mass, will harden at its center so it can soften toward your mouth. The plum you’re going to eat next summer doesn’t know you exist. The plum you are going to eat next summer is growing just for you.

[emilieae-deactivated20161030]

[the-hearth-and-the-wild]

Remember what April was like when we were young, that sense of liquid rushing and the wind taking blue scoops out of the air and the birds beside themselves in the budding trees?

John Banville, Ancient Light

[frostingdoll]

[undinesea]

Eternal, fragile, mysterious, and clear.

Jorge Luis Borges, "Music Box", from Selected Poems

[blushsea]

The wind carries all the secrets. Just listen closely.

[blondebedroom]

Princess Cynthia Corset - code PAMMY to save

[girlbloggingaddict]

photographed by miranda barnes

[blondebedroom]

The Ivory Victorian Tea Skirt (code: PAMMY)