âMemory is a wonderful thing if you donât have to deal with the past.â
â Before Sunset
occasionally subtle

#extradirty
Mike Driver
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Claire Keane
Keni

â
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă

â
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
DEAR READER

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Andulka
One Nice Bug Per Day
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

tannertan36
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@au-trocity
âMemory is a wonderful thing if you donât have to deal with the past.â
â Before Sunset

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heartbeat hurt // b.s.g
âDoes love always bring pain? My heart should not hurt, when I am loving you.â
s.s. (stephenstilwell)
âYouâve never heard my voicemail because I always answered your calls, so you donât know that I changed my voicemail in June. You donât know that I no longer smell like strawberries, I smell like vanilla now. And you donât know that I no longer have that cat that liked you so much. You donât know that my taste in music has changed yet again. And you donât know that I still keep one picture of us on my phone so when I get lonely I can remember what it was like to be smiling that genuinely. You donât know cause youâre no longer here.â
-Excerpt from a book Iâll never write, 111
âSubtle changesâ
not even Burt and all of his Bees could save me this time

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âGo to sleep, my love. Go to sleep, hold me. Itâs just a fearful dream.â
â Dacia Maraini, tr. by Tim Vode, from âDreams of Clytemnestra,â wr. c. 1994
I can feel my hips on top of yours on my little couch begging for you to stay. You close your eyes â in ecstasy or pain I never know â and you put your hands around my waist to pull me closer. I touch my forehead to yours and you kiss the tears off my cheeks, running your hands up and down my body. My chest touches yours and you take off your glasses before you kiss me. Gently at first, then tongues and hair everywhere, hands pulling our faces together. There is no space between us and yet we fight as if there is, pulling grasping, hugging, embracing to lessen the differences between our skin.
(T. // nostalgia)
âthere are these particular fragments of my life that I keep going back to. I just canât seem to let go. I only seem to be able to dwell in my past every second my mind isnât busy; on my way to the bus stop, sitting on the train, walking through the city. I just keep constantly thinking about places that are left in the past. when Iâm walking to the bus stop, Iâm imagining the one I used to walk to years ago and when walking across this city, Iâm fantasizing about the one I used to live in ages ago. I just miss how my life used to be and it hurts because I know for sure that Iâm never going to be able to live another second of it.â
â I just miss how my life used to be.
âHow I love to wake up beside you, seeing your sleepy face⌠I think youâre adorable when you donât want to wake up and you just hug me tighter and bury your face in the crook of my neck, your breath tickling it⌠I love how you like to cuddle me before you have to get up and ready to leave, Iâm a little sad at that moment because when you tell me goodbye before you go I miss you already⌠but I know that I will see you soon. I love you!â

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âi used to hold myself together. tie my arms around my core because i knew if i stopped hugging myself, all of my broken pieces would fall apart. then you came along, told me to loosen my grip; my nails were clenching onto my skin so violently my arms started to bleed. you told me to open up my arms. you told me you wouldnât hug me (God knows i hate physical contact with strangers); instead, you wanted me to tell you about every single one of the pieces that make me up. so, i sat on the floor, untied my arms and i finally let go. i let go of the past, the hurting, the guilt. and you stood by me along every single step of this difficult path. you listened. and for that, i thank youâ
â poem dedicated to my therapist.
âI want to know you whether youâre afraid of sharks or spiders death or love. I want to know if itâs grammatical errors that drive you crazy or the people correcting them, if youâre more comfortable shaking sand out of your hair or snow, if you prefer coffee or tea, bars or board game nights. I want to know which of your friends youâve cried in front of, if youâve ever laughed chocolate milk out of your nose, or kissed someone you didnât love. I want to know you the you beneath the layer of small talk always kept shined and smudgeless Iâm just hoping one day youâll invite me in.â
â Kristen Costello
The thing about love is that it doesnât have a ceiling. You can love someone with all your heart and there will still be room for more love. Thatâs the difference between old couples and the new ones. As you get used to a person, you learn to love everything about them- their hair, their smile, their awkward glances, their way of saying âHiâ, their kindness, their arrogance- everything becomes something to cherish. I have been with my lover for a long time now and I still find a new reason to love him more.
Old
Picture this: You are sitting at a table in a cafe and itâs fall, the leaves outside are falling, you are wearing a cozy sweater. A half full latte is on your right, and you are reading a good book. Acoustic music is in your ears, and you nibble on cinnamon almond butter toast. You are alone, but you are okay. You are alright. You are content. You finally realized that the key to being happy, is to be okay that things arenât okay. Life is hard, but it is good too.
n.c. // enjoy the simple things, because everything you worry about will pass. donât spend the little time you have on that. (via blooming-anna-rose)
- excerpt from the gentle version by sylvie

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My grandmother has carried her motherâs rage In her bones, Ever since she was a girl. My mother has carried her motherâs rage In her hands, Ever since she was a girl. I have carried my motherâs rage In my heart, Ever since I was a girl. We are bound by the trauma of those that have lived long before us. And, even though we promise not to, We pass that rage onto those who will live long after us. That is womanhood.
We wear it as a badge of honor, even as we bleed
Phi (via snuglesbian)
i. the way he never tolerates his friends disrespecting you, the way heâs just as affectionate in front of his boys as he is in private. ii. he always holds your hand in public and itâs not possession, itâs partnership. you ask him about it once, the way his hands always seem to find some place on the most innocent parts of your body. and he shrugs, âi like the feeling of being close to you.â he says it simply like it means nothing at all. you smile for the rest of the day. iii. he couldnât afford to buy you anything expensive for your birthday because youâre both young and broke and trying to carve out some space in the world big enough for the two of you to exist without being crushed. but he cooked you breakfast and sang happy birthday, loud and off key, to anyone who would listen and danced you drunk under fairy lights in the courtyard. and when he dipped you down so that the only things you could see were him and the moon, he buried his face in your neck. said your name very quietly against your skin, held you for a beat longer and a degree tighter than usual until your name was something else on his lips. iv. he does the dishes because he knows you hate the way the dishwater feels against your skin. v. when you brought him home for the first time, he was nervous. all words tripping over each other and your motherâs favorite flowers spilling from his hands and more âyes ma'amâsâ than a southern boy at his favorite grandmotherâs house. he slept in the cold basement that your dad hadn't gotten around to insulating yet even though your parents said he could sleep on your floor. âi want them to trust me,â he said, âi want them to know i would never take advantage of their kindness. or of you.â vi. that week that you could barely get out of bed because you were so sick, he watered that little plant on your windowsill at work without telling you. vii. he paints the nails on your left hand and replaces your sodas with water and keeps a spare hair tie in his wallet and remembers your best friendâs birthday and slips granola bars into your purse on the days he knows youâll forget to eat lunch. viii. when you argue, he doesnât raise his voice. he says sorry when heâs wrong and it sounds like an apology, not an excuse. he forgives you for the little things. for the big ones too.
L.A.L. || All the little ways he says i love you || prompted from someone behind the screen (via writing-in-the-wings)