Game of Thrones Daily
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Keni

Andulka
No title available
Jules of Nature
will byers stan first human second
🪼
No title available
DEAR READER
dirt enthusiast
cherry valley forever
Cosimo Galluzzi
Three Goblin Art

No title available

No title available
we're not kids anymore.
One Nice Bug Per Day

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
RMH

seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Spain
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from Spain
seen from Morocco
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Spain
seen from United States
@softly-whispering
My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers of my palms tell me so. Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish at the same time. I think praying, I think clapping is how hands mourn. I think staying up and waiting for paintings to sigh is science. In another dimension this is exactly what’s happening, it’s what they write grants about: the chromodynamics of mournful Whistlers, the audible sorrow and beta decay of “Old Battersea Bridge.” I like the idea of different theres and elsewheres, an Idaho known for bluegrass, a Bronx where people talk like violets smell. Perhaps I am somewhere patient, somehow kind, perhaps in the nook of a cousin universe I’ve never defiled or betrayed anyone. Here I have two hands and they are vanishing, the hollow of your back to rest my cheek against, your voice and little else but my assiduous fear to cherish. My hands are webbed like the wind-torn work of a spider, like they squeezed something in the womb but couldn’t hang on. One of those other worlds or a life I felt passing through mine, or the ocean inside my mother’s belly she had to scream out. Here when I say “I never want to be without you,” somewhere else I am saying “I never want to be without you again.” And when I touch you in each of the places we meet in all of the lives we are, it’s with hands that are dying and resurrected. When I don’t touch you it’s a mistake in any life, in each place and forever.
Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem by Bob Hicok (via prewars)
why count during your rests when you can:
clap
pray
scream
retune your instrument
recite the constitution
Nine in “The Doctor Dances”
“…you’ll bring honor to us all”
I need a life that isn’t just about needing to escape my life.
(via fashionsensexoxo)