There’s someone in my head but it’s not me.

[yoursoethereal-deactivated20230]

— Franz Kafka, from Letters To Milena

[lizardgoats]

“I buried the girl I had been because she ran into all kinds of trouble. I tried to erase every memory of her, but she is still there, somewhere. She is still small and scared and ashamed, and perhaps I am writing my way back to her, trying to tell her everything she needs to hear.”

— Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body, by Roxane Gay

[themakeupbrush]

Rahul Mishra Spring 2022 Couture

[aqua-regia009]

— Beyond Essence — Red Moon Eclipse Hand-cut collages by øjeRum

[cuntylestat]

the stories come at night shot on 35mm

[smilesbag]

richard siken a primer for the small weird loves // holly warburton making amends // holly warburton bobby // holly warburton the red jacket

[stlowens]

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals

[mercurieux]

Poppies by John William Godward, 1912.

[heavenlyyshecomes]

Do you understand? When I am done telling you these stories, when you’re done listening to these stories, I am no longer I, and you are no longer you. In this afternoon we briefly merged into one. After this, you will always carry a bit of me, and I will always carry a bit of you, even if we both forget this conversation.

—Hao Jingfang, ‘Invisible Planets,’ in Invisible Planets: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation, tr. & ed. Ken Liu

[love]

by Rebecca Louise Law

[moonandtrees]

“I am deathly afraid of almosts. Of coming so very close to where I want to be in life that I can almost taste it, almost touch it, then falling just a little short.”

— Beau Taplin (via purplebuddhaquotes)

[metamorphesque]

― Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

[autoneurotic]

light V

[detailedart]

Purple Rêverie. Claude Monet, details, 1. Shadows on the Sea, 2. Morning at Etretat.

[dearestvita-deactivated20221122]

“A woman. Yes, but a million other things as well.”

— Virginia Woolf, from Orlando

[leahberman]

astra; mono lake tufa state natural reserve, california

instagram

[untilghosts-deactivated20211029]

“I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief.”

— C.S. Lewis (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

[l2g-deactivated20240513]