wildfire

[soundcarvings]

I’m microdosing what spring will feel like

[flaneuresse]

Home, Paris, décembre 2019 by Marine Beccarelli on Flickr.

[chelliswilson]

rinne allen in her studio

jennifer causey photography

[miudeathwish]

jeju

[havingapoemwithyou]

letter to the past after long silence by Sarah Murphy

[makingimages]

[cultof-aphrodite]

Orangeblossom

[metamorphesque]

fyodor dostoevsky (the brothers karamazov), charles bukowski (a vote for the gentle light)

[spectrologie-deactivated2023041]

ateliervime

[makinginfinity]

cecealana 

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

“As for me, I follow the laughter, the smiles, the anger, the complaints and the sorrows of the sea near which I was born; but today the sun shines all over the ocean and I want to scream with love, enthusiasm, joy, recognition, happiness. I love you, my love, and I thank you for always being what you are, for always bringing me more than I ask for, and finally for not letting this unquenchable thirst for you, for you always, cease in my mouth.”

— Maria Casarès to Albert Camus, Correspondance, February 6, 1950 [#173]

[strykerlancer-deactivated202405]

— César Vallejo, from The Selected Writings; “Abraham Valdelomar Has Died.”

[Text ID: And I shall see you again and wrap my arms around you, like always, with all my soul, with all my heart.]

[candlewaltz]

letting my light wash dry among the trees

[silk-fleur]

source

[the-queen-of-saigon]

[thyming]

Runicradiance on Instagram ♡

[89words]

“Would you rather love the more, and suffer the more; or love the less, and suffer the less? That is, I think, finally the only real question. You may point out–correctly–that it isn’t a real question. Because we don’t have a choice. If we had the choice then there would be a question. But we don’t, so there isn’t. Who can control how much they love? If you can control it, then it isn’t love. I don’t know what you call it instead, but it isn’t love.”

— Julian Barnes, from The Only Story (Alfred A. Knopf, 2018)