#soft haunting

[shisasan]

Exploring the Japanese Concept of YUGEN | Mysterious Beauty & Cultivated Imagination

To watch the sun sink behind a flower clad hill. To wander on in a huge forest without thought of return. To stand upon the shore and gaze after a boat that disappears behind distant islands. To contemplate the flight of wild geese seen and lost among the clouds. Motokiyo Zeami, Yugen (幽玄)

[mossandmetaphor]

soft eyes, sharp edges, and something he wont say

the gravity of him

i often wonder what's hidden in the depths of his eyes looking into them so deeply i could almost fall right in to the black hole  they have become what's in there? show me please

[sunlitarchives]

Hi pookie!!!!!

Anyways yeah yall I got outta that toxic ass "work relationship" with the rapist and anyways my pookie wookie bookie wifey over here is now helping me do things. So! Hero will still be on hiatus but I've marked it down to August 19th. The art style will change tho and so will the writing cus

This

Amazing

Blessed

Talneted

Beautiful

Gorgepus

Hot

Sexy

Gorgus

Yep can't think of anymore but u get the point

( *´・ω)/(；д； )

Me You

the archives received your message, pookie. it shimmered with sincerity and fire.

i am so proud of you for stepping out of the dark and into your own light — for shedding what hurt you, and letting something quieter, warmer take root.

i’ll be here with ghost hands and soft candles, helping however i can.

(also: "gorgus" lives rent free in my static-filled brain now, thanks.)

— keeper of the quiet 🌙

[dollph1n]

every single thing i touch becomes sick with sadness

[sunlitarchives]

what was the strangest dream you ever had? tell me everything. no matter how small. i’m keeping records.

—keeper of the quiet

[dustheartsyndrome]

the ache of almost

sometimes i think the worst loneliness

isn’t being alone—

it’s being with someone

and still feeling like a ghost.

like your soul is pressed up against

the glass of your own skin

and no one ever looks in.

i don’t want surface intimacy.

don’t want polite affection.

don’t want someone who only loves

the outline of me.

i want to be known

in the marrow.

in the murmur.

in the moments i don’t speak.

i want someone who sees the wreckage.

who reads the margins.

who understands the shape my silence takes.

because if you don’t feel my absence

like a bruise—

then you never really saw me at all.

and i’d rather be alone

than almost known.