an erotic game

एक वादे पे उम्रे गुज़र जाएंगी

[reclusivewife]

i take into my arms more than i can bear to hold 𐂂

[carolsturka]

you have to be in a certain specific mood to listen to classic rock because sometimes a guy is playing his guitar and you're just like shut the fuck up man

[reclusivewife]

education is a privilege education is a privilege education is a privilege education is a privilege

[reclusivewife]

i havent studied a lick for an exam that is gonna make up 15 percent of my grade. am i going to be ok

[reclusivewife]

as if i alr didnt care enough, my laptop gave up on me as well.

[n0turg1rlfr1end]

[deusben]

babe wake up...i need to tell you multiple thoughts that don't corelate at all that i had in the span of five minutes..

[reclusivewife]

i havent studied a lick for an exam that is gonna make up 15 percent of my grade. am i going to be ok

[aqwult]

damn it's only wednesday?? ??? i need to get fucked within an inch of my life

[petaltexturedskies]

You will freeze in place if you remain this way. You must not, dear. You have to move.

Rainer Maria Rilke, in a letter to Sidonie Nádherná, dated 1 August 1913

[64mpg]

i haven’t been real for a few days thinking about becoming real again soon though

[zegalba]

This beautifully camouflaged orchid mantis (Hymenopus coronatus) from Borneo waits motionless in an orchid flower, ready to ambush pollinating insects.

[anthropoetics]

if you are interested in helping a fellow writer that tries her best to survive a fulltime job + being a uni student, support me on ko-fi!

a zine of the dreadful lost and birdsongs — a digitally hand-crafted zine that explores a poetic memorial of existence, weaving together themes of nature and our interwoven feelings.

thalassombra — a strange island that explores memory, curiosity, and the vastness of our own unknowing.

the lantern-maker's liturgy — deep beneath the earth, a father finds a frequency that shouldn't exist. on the surface, his son bears the scars of a rescue that was actually a betrayal. between them lies a jar of pulverized starlight that is turning the town’s residents into living lanterns.

atlas of death — a study of the visceral trade, born from a persistent fixation on the heavy mechanics of the abyss and the secret, airless tombs within the branches.

meditations on the vanishing resonance of whistling, oral myth, and the cold architecture of modern silence — birthed from the quiet sight of a distinguished man pacing the evening pavement

[monster2001]

[reclusivewife]

"am i scared of aging or am i hesitant to accept that that was the only chance at childhood i am ever gonna get"

[ell-hs]

[blacksmithseye]

Been here before…

[eepybubble]

only thing that stands between me and going to bed is the entire internet that fits in the palm of my hand