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Sade Olutola
YOU ARE THE REASON
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Kiana Khansmith
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$LAYYYTER
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we're not kids anymore.
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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The Bowery Presents
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@centralsweetfrolic
September Garden Party
by Jane Kenyon
We sit with friends at the round glass table. The talk is clever; everyone rises to it. Bees come to the spiral pear peelings on your plate. From my lap or your hand the spice of our morning’s privacy comes drifting up. Fall sun passes through the wine.
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I’m a lover without a lover. I’m lovely and lonely. I belong deeply to myself
- warsan shire
“I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories… water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom.”
Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves
“You are making breakfast in every dream that I have of you. You are in the kitchen, your soft middle pressed up against the cold marble countertops like a vision too beautiful for the magazines, sprinkling dark chocolate chips over pancakes. I think for a brief second that I am dreaming inside of my dream, that I had to make you up twice, just to get it right. You, brushing your dark hair out of your face, smearing batter across your cheeks. You have come and made my dreams smaller, narrower. Filled them with sugar and your body humming in the same room as mine. I dream, now, of a normal life with you. A life where breakfast lasts until the sun goes down, until I have finished gazing at you from across the table, flour dried to your forehead like a kiss.”
— Caitlyn Siehl, Chocolate Chip Pancakes
“sacrosanct, adj. The nape of your neck. Even the sound of the word nape sounds holy to me. That and the hollow of your neck, the peek of your chest that your shirt sometimes reveals. These are the stations of my quietest, most insistent desire.”
— David Levithan, from The Lover’s Dictionary (via keitamoris)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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“It is always better to be slightly underdressed.”
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.
Leonard Cohen
i like your eyelashes and your jeans and how you lean in towards me when you laugh like it’s a secret worth telling.
afallingsky.tumblr.com
Favourite Words
anicecupoftea:
his favorite words were triumph and shimmer; hers were scintillate and inevitable. they fit together in starlight and quiet mornings. they lived on boston baseball games and ice cream after dark, breakfasts on the beach and crackling bonfires while the sun set behind premature fireworks. they ran together into the waves, holding hands always, sometimes never speaking but always knowing each other’s thoughts. they were connected in raindrop races and sprints down the sandy shore, falling over sinking feet, hands still held tight, tumbling over seashells and forgotten kite strings, always laughing, smiling, singing. their love was unavoidable, it was victorious, it shone, sparkled. it was inevitable, triumphant. shimmering and scintillating. it was true.
(via )
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.
F. Scott Fitzgerald (via paper-fairy)
@kumakurkuma
You're the only girl I've seen for a long time that actually did look like something blooming
Tender Is The Night
“I will have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love. Love above all.”
—
Viola De Lesseps, “Shakespeare in Love (1998)”.
(via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
[Pablo Neruda, “Love Sonnet XVII”]
(via jessa-may-louise)
(via jessaetcetera)
