I'm convinced the love of my life is ranting about holding hands and kissing my temple in their dark academia blog on Tumblr

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@etherealcallistan
I'm convinced the love of my life is ranting about holding hands and kissing my temple in their dark academia blog on Tumblr

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𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗎 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗒 ♡
𝗏𝗂𝖺: 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅_𝗓𝗈𝗈
Danez Smith, from "summer, somewhere"

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Hanif Abdurraqib interviewed by Ruth Awad: Joy Is Not Promised to You
𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽 ♡
“𝚆𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛; 𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.”
— 𝙴𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚎
“Your mind is a garden, plant flowers, not weeds. / Your thoughts are like water, as clear or murky as you allow them to be”
— (note to self)
Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours
May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

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Kahlil Gibran, excerpts from Sand and Foam [ID in ALT]
Charles Bukowski, "no title," from What Matters Most is How Well You Walk through the Fire
Charles Bukowski, "white dog," from What Matters Most is How Well You Walk through the Fire
Temporariness of human existence
I like art that depicts women not posing seductively or gracefully but simply existing as human beings.
Works:
1. Ampio orizzonte by Ettore Tito, 1910 2. Mariana (Millais) by John Everett Millais, 1851 3. Bathing Girls by Paul Gustave Fischer, 1860-1934 4 If a woman reads a book in the forest but no one is there to see it... by Jenna Gribon, 2020 5. The Reader Wreathed with Flowers / Virgil's Muse by Camille Corot, 1845 6. In the Garden by Helena Janecic 7. A girl with her bike looking over the water by Alexander Akopov 8. Girl with a Straw Hat by Francine Van Hove 9. After the Ball by Ramon Casas, 1895 10. Untitled by Francine Van Hove
Moonlight

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The heart is the toughest part of the body. Tenderness is in the hands.
(from Carolyn Forché's The Country Between Us)
Hands are unbearably beautiful. They hold on to things. They let things go.
- Mary Reufle -
Take my hands in your hands, teach me to remember, teach me not to remember.
(from H.D.'s piece, "Helen in Egypt")
My hands wanted to touch your hands because we had hands.
(from Frank Bidart's poem, In the Western Light)
We held hands.
I was wondering what it would be like to have a home of your own where you could come and go, where people would be welcome, where you would never be frightened again.
-Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal
Holding Hands- A Love Language
Look at your wrist, see the blueish veins? The blood flowing through them contains hemoglobin, a protein that has four iron atoms incorporated into its structure. Iron is only naturally produced in one place, it can only be forged in the core of dying stars.
Every time you look at your veins, remember that you are built from, and kept alive by, pieces of stardust.