AnasAbdin
Show & Tell
ojovivo

Kaledo Art

roma★
Stranger Things

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Keni
noise dept.

Origami Around

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
occasionally subtle
No title available

Kiana Khansmith
NASA
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Not today Justin
i don't do bad sauce passes
almost home
Cosmic Funnies

seen from Argentina
seen from Chile
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Canada
@untouchableeeeeee
“I think part of the reason why we hold so tight is because we fear something so great won’t happen twice”
— unknown (via hatin)
“We determine who we are by what we do”
— unknown (hatin)
“Sometimes what you’re most afraid of doing the very thing that will set you free.”
— Robert Tew
Damn..
oh god I had a really big epiphany about love and personhood but I'm too drunk for words. hold on I'm gonna paint it.
this. this is it.
You gotta walk in rooms like God sent you
quiero sentarme en el pastito y escuchar música linda sin preocuparme por nada
He asked me when I fell in love with him and I knew it sounded dramatic to say the moment I saw him, so I told him this story of my grandma who had Alzheimer's- she forgot her name and the words for fruit and food, she forgot her address and how to use the washroom, all her life lost to the disease. The only thing she remembered was her son's name and when that began to fade, the one thing she always remembered was that she loved him, even in illness, even in insanity. She saw this 6 foot 2 man with a scrubby beard and she didn't know him but she said she trusted him, she asked him to hold her hand when she died. When does memory end and love begin? All I know is- she loved him before she remembered him.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire