my eyes are open now.

grace | twenty-one | est hopeless romantic. when i was a little girl i dreamed of fairytales and happily ever afters.

[tartts]

You are a flame on a winter night: deceivingly welcoming, but still deathly cold.

with the frailty of a single candle but the power of a snowstorm (via tartts)

[enjoy-the-life-baby]

[toou]

[hellishmuse-deactivated20170925]

sagihairius:

90% of my life is me making an irritated looking face

[writingfromgrace]

What she says: I'm fine

What she means: I've been explicitly and implicitly taught since birth to value the feelings of others over my own feelings and to conceal all negative emotion so as to avoid making anyone else uncomfortable and be a "good girl" so maybe that means that you now have to put in a little extra effort to make me feel safe enough to express myself honestly and maybe that's annoying but imagine how it feels for me

[heartbreakclubs]

me? both avoiding and craving attention? you bet

[moerae-deactivated20231007]

Day Dreams (detail) Charles-Amable Lenoir

[ohardently]

oh darling, paint the world gold! let the skies shimmer with the whispers of the sun, and let your skin glow like a burning angel; here we are e t e r n a l.

and may it never fade | o.l (via ahprohdite)

[thelovejournals]

I can’t tell you how piercingly and endlessly I think about you.

Virginia Woolf,  “Letter to Vita Sackville-West” (via kaafka)

[wnq-writers]

I befriended the moon for she changes like I do.

thebrightsideofthebluemoon, writing prompt #65: write a ten-word-story (via wordsnquotes)

[thequotejournals]

I wear the universe backwards. I imagine putting stars in my coffee, and sugar in the sky. I imagine going fishing in clouds, and watching the sun hide behind lakes. I’m too busy dancing with my imagination to even tip toe with reality for a second. They say I’m going mad. They’re right.

D. Antoinette Foy

(via thequotejournals)

[lifeinpoetry]

… what I am aches in me.

Fernando Pessoa, from “I See Boats Moving,” Selected Poems (via lifeinpoetry)

[mjalti]

me: hello me, internally: did i say too much

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

A solitude of sea, A solitude of death,

Emily Dickinson, from The Collected Poems; “XXV,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[lifeinpoetry]

Girls like me love ancient thinking, we wear robes stained with yesterday’s wine, we wait for an ascension to heaven while standing in line to get into the martyr club, our chests studded with arrows, our hands seared with ink, we dance in golden tesserae, legs flashing neon while smoking cigarettes, we drink from silver goblets left out for the prophet, we are abandoned, in love with our gore, the heavy door propped wide open to let the night in, to let the lions in.

Hannah Cohen, “The Martyr Club,” published in Yes, Poetry (via danselions)

[palmandlaser]

From “The International Collection of Interior Design” (1985)

[chanelbagsandcigarettedrags]