overcome with feeling

[tordenvejr]

you must give those you love the grace of evolving at their own pace.

[prettycolors]

[nobodysflower]

i’m ready for june. the purest month. the friday afternoon of summer, when the world hums with possibility. when spring kisses summer on the cheek, leaves behind a trail of ferns and dew. june is packing your suitcase for a trip. june is a sprinkler in the lawn. june is goodbye and hello all at once. every day feels like the first moment after you wake up, when the dreams still stick to your skin. we wander dazed and hazy in the infant months of heat and sun. we are lovely and unafraid

[nontemporary]

[a-melin]

[brutalistarchitecture2]

From Jeanette Winterson's recent substack article

[wintamint]

“I exist. It’s sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you’d think it floated all by itself. It stirs.”

— Jean-Paul Sartre, from Nausea (via shrinemaidens)

[blogging-at-your-funeral]

subliming.jpg

Andrea Dworkin

[lucyindiesky]

“I don’t want your love unless you know I am repulsive, and love me even as you know it.”

— Georges Bataille (via riversarmsx)

[uroko]

wakyakyamn

[unreadable]

[existential-celestial]

“I know that you think you already know but— Wait Longer than that. even longer than that.”

— Marie Howe, “What the Silence Says,” featured in Magdalene: Poems

[blahenciaga]

[raulcreed-deactivated20201224]

I abandoned myself to new dreams—soft, shapeless things,

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (tr. by Margaret Jull Costa)

[elkrisen-deactivated20260120]

“There’s this idea in psychoanalysis that I’ve always liked. It’s that what we call ‘love’ is actually letting your identity fill in around the shape of the other person - you love someone by defining yourself against them. it says loss hurts because there’s nothing holding that part of you in place anymore. But your outline still holds, and it keeps holding. The thing you shaped yourself into by loving them, you never stop being that. The marks are permanent, so the idea of the person you loved is permanent, too.”

— Micah Nemerever, These Violent Delights: A Novel

[beweep]

via

[sixpenceee]

Horse dances along the beach in pure bliss before accelerating to top speed | source