cherry valley forever
Cosimo Galluzzi
tannertan36
One Nice Bug Per Day
taylor price
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izzy's playlists!
KIROKAZE
Peter Solarz
pixel skylines
styofa doing anything
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
blake kathryn
YOU ARE THE REASON
No title available
No title available
Kiana Khansmith
h
DEAR READER
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from T1
seen from New Zealand
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
@shanefkndawson
im just leaving this here as a gentle request for cole sprouse to be bffs with my kj apa. if ur interested in an epic bromance, HIT A GIRL UP. also, the cole could have plots w my lili reinhart as well - exes, friends, whatever the hell we want.
Just a heads up, if anyone wants to make a nick or kevin jonas. or IF YOU WANNA MAKE THE BABY ROSE SISTER 👀 come 2 me and let me give u faMILY
Porto, Portugal by: Roya Ann Miller
All right, hey! All right, good job, guys! Let’s just not come in tomorrow, let’s just…take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is, but I wanna try it.
beautiful people, a real life RP set in fictional Sun Valley, CA. coming soon to jcink
[follow]
I wanna be your endgame;
Buster Posey
Bellamy, you saved me.
beautiful people, a real life RP set in fictional Sun Valley, CA. coming soon to jcink
[follow]
You need to calm down.
When I click on a video and it tries to send me to another app:
Sansa to the south: goodbye everyone, i’ll remember you all in therapy.
the boys are back
writer aesthetics
john keats: the lavender in sunsets, flowers in the rain, sunlight slipping through clouds, lazy summer afternoons, the heavy scent of musk, flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books, fireflies on a cool summer night, being wrapped in fresh bedsheets, the ache of wanting what you can never have, dripping sunlight like gold, loving someone so exquisite, soft lips and soft whispers, fingers through hair, names of lovers carved in trees, broken glass, the insistence of being perpetually dreamy
f. scott fitzgerald: mahogany wood, crisp winter skies with cold bright stars, the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog, empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room, pale bruised arms reaching out into the darkness, cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of alcohol, a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered, a bad thunderstorm occurring at the end of a beautiful day, the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment, your favorite sweater, parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing, the contrast of blood against snow, a purple split lip oozing blood, black eyes fading to blue to pale skin, the butterflies of falling in love for the first time, the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries, the romanticization of self-destruction
franz kafka: the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future, decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there, the way not even light can escape a black hole, the rich smell of old books, delicate veins in the wrist, ghosts filling lungs, shattered bones, raindrops on the tongue, rusting metal, nostalgia that aches, the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head
h.p. lovecraft: the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave, pouring rain and mud, a child’s fear of the dark, thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never ending ocean, the silence of three a.m., danse macabre by camille saint-saens playing on a record in an empty house, the possibility of aliens and the weird feeling it gives you that you can’t explain, unexplainable phenomena, strange lights in the sky in the dead of night, ouija boards and urban legends
jack kerouac: the brisk pine air of being on a mountain, travels without a destination, those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory, screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive, coffee shops late at night, car rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark, naps spent in the sun, novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins, the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders, ignoring flaws and loving life, wind through hair, depression as fog in the brain, impossible ideals, a quiet sunrise, walks alone, when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe, dazzling people, open lands stretching out into infinity, falling in love with being alive
edgar allan poe: the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog, hollow bones, a preserved heart held in hands, twinkling stars above an old graveyard, the way everything turns to dust, silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom, self-inflicted flames, perfection depicted as a rotting corpse, death as bricks in the heart, lips barely brushing against each other, glassy glazed eyes, biting into a lemon, heart-shaped bruises, rotting flowers on a grave, dried blood and spilled liquor, the hush of dusk when it begins raining, the intimacy of a secret
I think it’s because you’re all named Chris, and you’re all kinda scruffy and squinty and jacked, but in a sweet way. You’re always at the airport wearing raggedy tees that are tight just around the pecs. And you have bracelets with wooden beads, from Bali or wherever. — Kate McKinnon
When day turns to nightfall🌑Full moon tonight 🌌Good night Oldfarmhouse✨ https://www.flickr.com/photos/
