the dancers are all gone under the hill

May. 21. I like poetry and flowers.

[ebrowningfrance]

Emily Browning pour ‘The Last Magazine’ (2017).

[icebabyprincess]

💥

[thefoamborn]

I follow back similar

[emilyblincoe]

[peacefulautumnleaves]

Loving this fall weather right now <3

[okay]

[pairedaeza]

I burn, I shiver, out of this sun, into this shadow.

Virginia Woolf, from The Waves (via pairedaeza)

[leahberman]

Fog sigh

La Tuna Canyon Park, California

instagram

[ivarsgard]

[small-sprouts]

So I don't know what the point of posting this is, but I'm finally willing to admit to myself that I'm struggling with depression and that I'm not okay, and it feels kinda good to be able to put that out there

[wnq-writers]

maybe in five years our paths will cross again i will tell you how desperately in love i was with you and we can laugh about how we broke each other’s hearts

Selina Soldner  (via wnq-writers)

[90spersephone]

would love some roses and books

[acornfaerie]

i want to curl up inside a soft rose and fall asleep for a while

[wreck]

[meanwhilepoetry]

There is witchcraft in our blood, in our bones we carry the magic that you could not burn away. You see, fire does not eat fire. Your mother would have taught you that if the world hadn’t convinced her that despite her body being able to bring life into this world, she is not a magical thing. Maybe the witches you burned were the daughters of something more holy than you could ever handle. So you set them alight for being different, forgetting that even the son of your God was once condemned for being too pure, too beautiful, too different for this world. History devoured your name, but we have never forgotten what you did, witch hunter. You see, fire never forgets. When you burned the witches you thought what you did was small. But the flames gave birth to ideas and the ideas set alight souls. For every witch you burned there are now a thousand witch women living differently, and standing tall. And you may have burned some of us, but you will never destroy us all.

Nikita Gill, To the Men Who Burned Witches (via meanwhilepoetry)

[consonant-deactivated20251203]

if i were a drink i’d be cherry vanilla coke

[consonant-deactivated20251203]

if you were a drink what would you be

[consonant-deactivated20251203]

everyone’s like “bleach” or “sewage” please calm down edgelords

[goldenprairies]

fogged flowers

[shucklefuckle]