Hélène Cixous, from The Selected Plays of Hélène Cixous; “Portrait Of Dora,”
DEAR READER

Janaina Medeiros
wallacepolsom
$LAYYYTER

roma★
Today's Document
Peter Solarz

Kiana Khansmith
One Nice Bug Per Day
Sade Olutola
sheepfilms
Sweet Seals For You, Always

No title available
Not today Justin

Kaledo Art
Mike Driver
we're not kids anymore.

Discoholic 🪩
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
occasionally subtle

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Switzerland

seen from South Korea
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
@sane-enuff
Hélène Cixous, from The Selected Plays of Hélène Cixous; “Portrait Of Dora,”
Maisie Peters, “There It Goes” / art by Otoha Takenami
This!
‘Love is an organic thing. It rots and softens.’
Words by Clementine Von Radics
Commissions open for apple art! Message me if you’re interested I can give more info 🍎🤎
you’re not loveable when you need love so much
Marcel Proust, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Marcel Proust
Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, from The Sleepwalker
[Text ID: "I'm scared, but it doesn't mater, I thought maybe I should wait for some other love, but it would have been a mistake. There's no greater love than what I feel for you."]
World of Tomorrow (2015) dir. Don Hertzfeldt
Glennon Doyle, Untamed
Louise Glück, from “Otis”, Poems 1962 - 2012
it's just that when i love something, i love it loud and i love it long. i've never figured out the halfway of it - when i hold something, i let it scar me.
Joy Sullivan, “Want", Instructions for Traveling West
Keep reading
Kaveh Akbar, from "Despite My Efforts Even My Prayers Have Turned into Threats", Pilgrim Bell
Wasted
There are days like this, where
everything crumbles around you
(un)knowing why, and you try
to stand tall, which doesn't
always work, but you
force yourself, you recount your age,
you miss someone with no flesh or face,
you ask them - why don't you hurry up?
while there's still life, why don't you
hurry up? we'll soon have time
for nothing, and we're
already late.
Some things are not
written in poems, like -
waiting is love
that you waste.
✒️ F. J.
Courtney Marie Andrews, from Old Monarch: Poems; “Against all odds”
[Text ID: “I am sorry. I love you. I cherish you. Our sweet memories are a museum in which I have a lifelong admission.”]