𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒂

I reblog, therefore I am.

[toiich]

Françoise Hardy by Jean-Marie Périer, 1964

[rubypomegranates]

“What I want is so simple I almost can't say it: elementary kindness.”

Barbara Kingsolver “Animal Dreams”

[seaphine]

did you get the dream i sent you?

[corropt]

Barbara and Michael Leisgen - Mimesis, 1972-1973

[aletheyass]

tes THDPSSSSPS 💜

[apas-95]

wgat did u say

[svetzzi]

go away forever with me

[radfemme-rage]

OSA women who act out on their attraction to males by getting into relationships with them remind me of drug addicts

it’s not rational behaviour, in fact they are perfectly aware most of the time it’s self harm, but ultimately they don’t care because of the dopamine they somehow get from partnering with males

many such cases, and i don’t have a lot of empathy for it for women who are above the age of 25. i think particularly in the west where these women are pro-actively choosing to partner with males, it really is in such ill taste to do so

you forget about the hundreds of women in your lineage alone who would’ve killed to have your autonomy, and you waste it by chasing your own abuse and oppression. it’s really ridiculous, actually

[funny-history]

[targetedknowledge]

[katerobynmoments]

— Clarice Lispector

“Life has no adjective. It’s a mixture in a strange crucible but that allows me, in the end, to breathe. And sometimes to pant. And sometimes to gasp. Yes. But sometimes there is also the deep breath that finds the cold delicateness of my spirit, bound to my body for now.”

[selfundiagnosed]

basement i saw in 2020. May Peace Prevail On Earth

[uzm]

[firebuug]

Visit Original Link

[addelburgh]

[happyheidi]

heart cat surrounded by flowers 🐈🍃 x

[michaelnordeman]

Roe Deer/rådjur. Värmland, Sweden (10 June 2020).

[petaltexturedskies]

This morning I watched the deer with beautiful lips touching the tips of the cranberries, setting their hooves down in the dampness carelessly, isn't it after all the carpet of their house, their home, whose roof is the sky? Why, then, was I suddenly miserable? Well, this is nothing much. This is the heaviness of the body watching the swallows gliding just under that roof. This is the wish that the deer would not lift their heads and leap away, leaving me there alone. This is the wish to touch their faces, their brown wrists-to sing some sparkling poem into the folds of their ears, then walk with them, over the hills and over the hills and into the impossible trees.

Mary Oliver, “This morning I watched the deer”