Me and my bike 🚲#amsterdamforest #purplerain #matchingcolours #sunnydays (bij Amsterdamse Bos) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0SwylZIEFj/?igshid=kwynwvamb53
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

pixel skylines

Product Placement
ojovivo
occasionally subtle
cherry valley forever

JVL
No title available
Show & Tell
One Nice Bug Per Day
Peter Solarz
h

@theartofmadeline
Cosimo Galluzzi
Keni
AnasAbdin

Origami Around
Three Goblin Art

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
d e v o n

seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Colombia
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 Japan

seen from United States

seen from Brazil

seen from United States
seen from United States
@stijnfolkers
Me and my bike 🚲#amsterdamforest #purplerain #matchingcolours #sunnydays (bij Amsterdamse Bos) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0SwylZIEFj/?igshid=kwynwvamb53
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via quotespile)