#spiltink

[a-silentpoet]

you taught me that "i love you" isn't just a sentence. i still remember how the words fell from your lips like fleeting desert rain.

now you're gone, and I understand why you should never give someone something they'll forget how to live without.

[thislonelypoet]

Why does this timeline feel

Inadequate for my needs

Why can't I walk a cobblestone street

Into a building, with pillars neat

Be greeted with a hearth so warm

My coat is thus, forlorn

When a cup of black is most sweet

And bells rung upon the street

The horses clop amongst the rubble

Of the groups of girls that giggle and muddle

When books of new parchment smelt most fresh

Of pines and woods of forests kept

A cigarette smoke that lofts past

Amongst the grey skies of past

It must be Europe that I speak of

In an age when books were made of

Intelligent young folk, making their way in the world

When a future was promised

A meaning meant well

Now tis a boring age, of white walls

Squared and plain

With sidewalks smooth like polished stone

Not a chip, nor crack, nor crevice known

All but straight and perfect now

Nor buildings high and intricate in detail

Nor horses that pull a carriage in avail

Nay, a cigarette as rare as the time of day

Of a walk less brisk than made today

Not a coffee made with loves bitter sweet

Oh I dream of walking a cobblestone street.

[nia-thorne]

Taylor Swift Folklore Album Aesthetic

Majorie Aesthetic

Closure Aesthetic

Evermore Aesthetic

[wordsnfeelings]

I wonder if you know that I’m proud of you, Maybe I don’t tell you enough, Or even at all… I assume it’s implied but I know I should make the effort, Sometimes it just feels like a lot, I’m proud of you for managing breakfast today, Yesterday you brushed your hair for the first time in a while, We don’t see eye to eye sometimes, Maybe that’s just siblings, I wish I could hear from you more too, Sometimes I want more than a fifteen minute drive into town, I enjoy picking you up from work, Even if you mess up my seat covers… Maybe you’ll be my friend again one day, When you’re not so busy.

M.N

[phoebewritesatnight]

Submerged in water

Maybe you’d like to chase the sun

Standing at horizons

Have your name fly to the moon

 Maybe you’d just like to wear chunky sweaters

Painting rainbows in the stormy skies

Count the fireflies that make you smile

 Maybe you’d like to walk through fires

bathe in blood and tears of love

taste the foreignness of giving up

Maybe you’d just like to live like rain

Tapping on my windows, making the world fret

Submerging me in water, only like you can

/twelve/

[everysinglefuckingbeat]

“Why would I do that? Killing myself means I'll never read another book, there are more books out there than I could ever read; but why would I stop myself from trying.”

[lija-poet]

Sorry for the absence ! In case you’ve missed some weird words from this manic chick, BABY’s BACK !

[englishmodernism]

Mon Dieu! Nathalie Parain an image from her 1930 French Picture Book, Mon Chat. Parain arrived in Paris via Russia, where she had studied fine art. She started to illustrate stories for her young daughter, in the spirit of the Russian children’s books she had bought with her. A publisher friend saw them and persuaded her to let him publish her drawings. A landmark book, and the precursor of the Pere Castor series. #nathalieparain #mondieu #monchat #spiltink #catsofinstagram #frenchchilrensbook #petecastor @flammarionjeunesse @editionsmemo #emigree