Julie Anne Peters,ย By The Time You Read This, Iโll Be Dead
Not today Justin

oozey mess
One Nice Bug Per Day

Product Placement

shark vs the universe
Claire Keane
hello vonnie
almost home

pixel skylines
todays bird
Sade Olutola

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d e v o n

Love Begins
$LAYYYTER
Aqua Utopia๏ฝๆตทใฎๅบใง่จๆถใ็ดกใ

Kiana Khansmith
i don't do bad sauce passes
Xuebing Du

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@cardinail
Julie Anne Peters,ย By The Time You Read This, Iโll Be Dead

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the pain I donโt say out loud, builds a home inside me.
Life of the Party,ย โNo Baptismโ by Olivia Gatwood (via deformititties)
โYou, God, who live next doorโ If at times, through the long night, I trouble you with my urgent knockingโ this is why: I hear you breathe so seldom. I know youโre all alone in that room. If you should be thirsty, thereโs no one to get you a glass of water. I wait listening, always. Just give me a sign! Iโm right here. As it happens, the wall between us is very thin. Why couldnโt a cry from one of us break it down? It would crumble easily, it would barely make a sound.โ
โ Rainer Maria Rilke, tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy,ย โDu, Nachbar Gott, wenn ich dich manchesmalโ | ย Rilkeโs Book of Hours: Love Poems to God
Rita Dove, from โNovember for Beginnersโ

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โI open to you like a flowering wound,โ
โ Erica Jong, from Becoming Light: New & Selected Poems;ย โAfter The Earthquake,โ
โI sit reading as if you were watching me, and I love you and want you to love me.โ
โ Boris Pasternak to Marina Tsvetaeva from Letters: Summer 1926
La Seu Vella, Lleida, Catalonia. Photos by Adeline Gressin
โโฆhow I love your handwriting, that running shadow of your voiceโฆโ
โ Vladimir Nabokov, in a letter to his wife Vรฉra (1937), Letters to Vรฉra
โSo in my defense, when he touched me, the lights of my body came on. In my defense, the windows were thrown open. In my defense, spring.โ
โ Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz, from โNot Doing Something Wrong Isnโt the Same As Doing Something Rightโ in her book,ย The Year of No Mistakes

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The Comet Book (1587), details, โ16th-century treatise on comets, created anonymously (or maybe it was a woman who endured erasure) in Flanders (now northern France)โ. Originally named in german Kometenbuch.
Anne Sexton, from โThe Touch.โ
St. Peterโs Basilica, Vatican City by vtarnini
โโฆis it suffering or goodness that makes them holy, or can anyone tell the difference?โ
โ Margaret Atwood, from โThe Saints,โ in Interlunar
โโฆ write to me about yourself; tell me your life and loves, and all that keeps you wondering. Who are you ? (what a difficult question for any one of us to answer !) I, at any rate, am your friend.โ
โ Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), in a letter to Philip Houghton [?Late February 1894], in ย โOscar Wilde: A Life In Lettersโ (via finitaโlaโcommedia)

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maybe i just love hands but i feel thereโs such symbolism in bernardo always clasping his hands together (and the few instances he doesnโt). it feels, only at times, like a desperate clinging. a way to keep his longing to himself. to contain his love. for his handsโhis desireโto not reach out to another in a way that breaks his vows. still, he has his rare moments. like when he skyped lenny. his hands laid on both sides of the keyboard, stationary, almost nearly moving in a soothing/rubbing motion like he wants to reach out. lenny even has his moments of placing a hand on bernardo and bernardo does not reciprocate. he stays still. the only time their hands touch are when lenny is in mortal peril. the! agony! in that! in the new pope, when bernardo resists the temptation to act on his desire with another priest, and he stoops alone (seemingly alone, but lenny is there and i mean come on) on his bed, even then his hands are laid on top of each other. flat and dead.
excuse me!!! not to get too โtumblr fanatic deep dives into analyzing gifsโ on you but what can this mean! other than! longing! lenny lays a hand on his shoulder and one of his hands literally pulses open then shuts with such visceral intent from the touch. he wants! to! reach! back! but he wonโt! he canโt!