oceans rise

Margaret Atwood, True Stories; from ‘Small Poems for the Winter Solstice’

Anna Molinari in Vogue It, January 1996

— Georgia O’Keeffe, in a letter to Russel Vernon Hunter, from Georgia O’Keeffe: Art and Letter

— midsummer | d.x.y

— GennaRose Nethercott, from “Dear Fox, Dear Barn,” published in The Offing (via bostonpoetryslam)

M U R D E R E D  The writing continued until the driver’s side glass was clear, entirely swept clean by an invisible finger, until there were so many words that none of them could be read. Until it was only a window into an empty car with the memory of a burger on the passenger seat. ‘Noah,’ Gansey said, ‘I’m so sorry.’ Blue wiped away a tear. ‘Me too.’ Stepping forward, leaning over the hood of the car, Ronan pressed his fingers to the windshield, and while they watched, he wrote: R E M E M B E R E D.

I can’t stop laughing

A city of stone. Edinburgh, Scotland.

“Neil Abram Josten,“ Neil murmured, and it felt like waking up from a bad dream.

May the rest of our lives be the best of our lives. Movies Watched in 2018 | Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again (2018) dir. Ol Parker

Peter ‘woah woah woah’ Kavinsky

Lana Condor for FAULT Magazine (2016)

— Chelsea Wolfe, from “Hypnos Hour,” aired c. April 2018