Hello.

So can we pretend sweetly Before the mystery ends? //there are a lot of words here.

[sepia-firefly]

Can you treat infidelity with Orange Pekoe?

The day after we found out my father had been cheating on my mother for the better part of the last decade, my mother and I sat down to dinner. Both of us had skipped lunch- and with my brother gone for the day, there was no-one to remind us to eat. I languished all day. Sleeping, to tune out the news of the day before. I made a cup of tea for ma in the evening. I don’t think the either of us how to deal with our emotions very well. I made a cup of tea for ma in the evening to let her know I love her. Can you treat infidelity with Orange Pekoe?

At dinnertime, we sat at the table, the table bare. We dissected the recent screenshots sent by my father’s lover to her. Ma sat silent for a moment and pointed out a song he’d sent her on whatsapp. He sent me the same song last week, jano? Three years ago, I dated the first boy I had ever truly fallen in love with and who would later go on to cheat on me as well. I had discovered him sending his lover the same love songs he’d sent me.

Are we destined to live the same lives our parents did? Are we fated to repeat the same mistakes?

The day after we found out my father had been cheating on my mother for the better part of the last decade, my mother and I sat down to dinner. There were leftovers from lunch yesterday- shorshe chingri and aloo posto and some dal. Ma measured out the last of the gobindobhog rice and I washed it in the sink till the water ran clear. Gobindobhog cooks quickly; and the small, sticky, fragrant grains give me a sense of comfort nothing else compares to. We spoke about making soap tomorrow, checking to see what essential oils the two of us had combined together, ma chastised me for letting the celery in the fridge dry out and to use it the next day. I think about making a vast pot of bolognaise sauce tomorrow. I’m not quite sure how much comfort can be measured by an Italian grandmother’s gravy in a Bengali household. Really, I’m not quite sure about anything anymore.

[nicethingsinuglyhandwriting]

Can I have you? // City and Colour.

[gaysuggestions]

netflix and…rest your head on my thigh while I run my fingers through your hair continuously

[observando]

and when all the wars are over, a butterfly will still be beautiful.

Ruskin Bond, Scenes from a Writer’s Life (via observando)

O

[help-n-quotes]

And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.

Unknown (via help-n-quotes)

[incidentalcomics]

[mrmalcontent]

The moon did not become the sun. It just fell on the desert in great sheets, reams of silver handmade by you. The night is your cottage industry now, the day is your brisk emporium. The world is full of paper.

Write to me.

[theartidote]

“Be sad but get up. You don’t have to shower. You can put on the same clothes you wore yesterday. Nobody will care. The sky is blue, wildflowers are blooming by the side of the road. Strangers have stories to tell. Go for a walk, go for a drive, go to a greenhouse, a bookstore, a movie theater. You can stay in bed but nothing is going to happen there. Sometimes you’ve really just got to get the fuck up.” —Emery Allen #TodaysMantra 🐣 artwork by @amidst.silence

[theartidote]

“Be alone. Eat alone, take yourself on dates, sleep alone. In the midst of this you will learn about yourself. You will grow, you will figure out what inspires you, you will curate your own dreams, your own beliefs, your own stunning clarity, and when you do meet the person who makes your cells dance, you will be sure of it, because you are sure of yourself.” -Bianca Sparacino ✨ artwork by Amada Garcia

[spatula]

(via Ricardo Bofill’s Red Wall Through The Lens of Gregori Civera | ArchDaily)

[coffeebooksandalcohol]

And then one student said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can’t even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you’re almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. And it’s that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what’s warm - whether it’s something or someone - toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being safe in the world and ready for sleep, that’s happiness.

Paul Schmidtberger, Design Flaws of the Human Condition (via coffeebooksandalcohol)

[sepia-firefly]

my aesthetic: the screen cutting to john oliver slowly banging his desk with his fist, stifling his laughter when they've just shown some ridiculously fantastic clip of donald trump screaming at a bear

[gabriellabowden]

“50,000 years ago, there are not even a million people on the planet. 10,000 years ago, there’s, like, two million people on the planet. Now there’s between five and six billion people on the planet, right? Now, if we all have our own, like, individual, unique soul, right, where do they all come from? You know, are modern souls only a fraction of the original souls? ‘Cause if they are, that represents a 5,000 to 1 split of each soul in the last 50,000 years, which is, like, a blip in the Earth’s time. You know, so at best we’re like these tiny fractions of people, you know, walking… I mean, is that why we’re so scattered? You know, is that why we’re all so specialized?”

Before Sunrise, 1995

[marisatomay]

concept: sprawled on your bed, freshly showered, your sheets are light and floral, windows are thrown open, the heat of the day is slowly diminishing with the setting of the sun, la vie en rose (louis armstrong) plays as a soft breeze slowly dries your hair

[demiiwhiffin]

chicago // sufjan stevens

[goodreadss]

Hokusai Katsushika, The Great Wave off Kanagawa

[khaleesi]

In honor of Lord Byron’s birthday I would like to remind you all of the time that Shelley and Keats, having not heard from him for some time, became concerned for his safety and it was determined that Shelley would go looking for him. Keats received a letter some time later that Shelley had found him in Paris, where he’d been having so much sex that he’d nearly died from malnourishment and dehydration. Keats’ entire response amounted to essentially, “You should probably have let him.”

[fozmeadows]

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