how deep is the ocean?

[sea-soaked-sand]

kinda feel like I need to go outside and be absorbed by fog or somethin. become one with the creatures in the mist. become the physical manifestation of the sound the highway makes in the distance. be my own liminal space. self care, yknow

[teenytinymoss]

Someone wanna go with me on a long train ride through France and Italy and stop at little cafés and eat at corner restaurants and spend our nights drinking on the balcony of our hotel room?

[jentehj]

“Let summer never end, let him never go away, let the music on perpetual replay play forever, I’m asking for very little, and I swear I’ll ask for nothing more.”

— André Aciman, Call Me By Your Name

[jinxproof]

“Amanda in the Mirror” Berlin, 1992

© Nan Goldin

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“What matters most of all in life is being able to make that contact with another human. Otherwise you are dead, like so many people today are dead. But if you can take that first step toward communication, toward understanding, toward love, then no matter how difficult the future may be–and have no illusions, even with all the love in the world, living can be hellishly difficult–then you are saved. This is all that really matters, isn’t it?”

Ingmar Bergman, from an interview conducted c. October 1964

[socraticsuggestions]

escape the cave

[girlfig]

twin peaks in early may

[tenderisthenite]

Nocturnal Animals (2016) dir. Tom Ford

[seemedright]

Visit Original Link

[ohsylvia]

Mad Girl's Love Song

By Sylvia Plath

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan’s men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

[nottoopeachy-blog-deactivated20]

Visit Original Link

Imagine living next door to Alex Turner and every Friday night him and his band rehearse in his garage, because the music is so loud you can hear it through your bedroom walls.