Aesthetic

I made this blog to be relatable and to share artwork and stuff

[mournfulroses]

Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath; "Three Women,"

[nyctophilia-35]

[dr4gme]

[moved-saintsebastiensbf]

Grief Lessons, Anne Carson

[fairydrowning]

"I sit with my grief. I mother it. I hold its small, hot hand. I don’t say, shhh. I don’t say, it is okay. I wait until it is done having feelings. Then we stand and we go wash the dishes. We crack open bedroom doors, step over the creaks, and kiss the children. We are sore from this grief, like we’ve returned from a run, like we are training for a marathon. I’m with you all the way, says my grief, whispering, and then we splash our face with water and stretch, one big shadow and one small."

– Callista Buchen

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Gentle Spirit

[wedarkacademia]

“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

― Jamie Anderson

[virginiewoolf]

Fortesa Latifi, from The Truth About Grief.

[missinyouiskillingme]

What if I never forget you? What if, all my life, when I meet someone new, I can never fall for them because they aren't you?

[thoughtkick]

“We’re all so desperate to be understood, we forget to be understanding.”

— Beau Taplin

[sarhoskedi-deactivated20241211]

[sarhoskedi-deactivated20241211]

[ruhlare]

"you are my ease"

[veganvampyre]

Flectere si nequeo superos

[mattywrites]

the night is darkest, somewhere in the middle, hovering like liminal space, a hidden stream of water, suspended by nature’s infinite grace, we stop to marvel at the marvels on the horizon, displays of man’s fury and his unbound will, but nature with her impartial plans, render’s every action and movement nil, so we settle for those tucked away bodies of water, gentle streams secluded on a faraway hill, away from concrete monoliths and our taint of rust, giants of dominion, that stand strong against all but mother’s gusts, they shall tower above for all of time, until mother she decides for the bells of the end to chime.

‘mother’ a poem by matthew marcel

[ruhlare]

I had a dream last night, you apologized

[fuckyeahsleeptoken]

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