May your healing bring you back to the hobbies you once loved.
almost home

Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Jules of Nature
Misplaced Lens Cap
d e v o n
The Stonewall Inn
Cosimo Galluzzi
EXPECTATIONS
ojovivo
YOU ARE THE REASON
RMH
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Monterey Bay Aquarium
cherry valley forever
One Nice Bug Per Day

@theartofmadeline
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Vietnam
seen from Singapore

seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye
seen from Japan

seen from United States

seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Jordan

seen from Türkiye

seen from Germany
seen from France

seen from Malaysia
seen from Kazakhstan
@kayakaal
May your healing bring you back to the hobbies you once loved.

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The intimacy of someone who values your relationship enough to do the inner work.
L. V., an old piece, revisited
this movie def took inspo from 2014 tumblr grunge

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Juillet 2026

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Charles Baudelaire, from a letter to Gustave Flaubert featured in The Selected Letters of Charles Baudelaire
Sailing off the coast of the Crimea in the moonlit night (1858) by Ivan Aivazovsky

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The alarm cuts open the morning. Tring, tring "Wake up, beta, you’re running out of time." you speaks to me like I’m still small, like my whole life is just a bus I might miss. you didn't mean to hurt me. you asked me to dream big, so I reached until my body broke. you showed me the sky, and now you are watching me fall through it. you drops you daughter off in a different state, leaving a scared little girl on unknown land, a future. but, papa I am already late for the woman I wanted to be. I am late for whatever cold, tired thing I am turning myself into. ""Twenty-three is a freak show. I say “I’m doing my masters” just to pretend this quiet room makes sense. I am far. god I am so far away. from myself An unknown dream on soil that isn't mine. I am awake, papa. I hear the clock ticking. And I am never late, because the daughter you left here is never coming to herself
This anger it is releasing And it hurts It hurts the way The way a fist forgets it was once a hand The way a locked room discovers air I thought freedom would sound like birds Instead it sounds like hinges Like ribs negotiating with breath Like a name returning from exile I do not know whether I am healing or simply becoming The heart has strange habits It buries what it cannot bury waters what it hopes will die then kneels before the forest asking who planted all these trees. I answer... no one
BUT Everyone. The child I abandoned to become unbreakable. The woman I invented to survive the child. They have been speaking together behind my eyes for years. Perhaps that is why every mirror looked crowded. This anger is releasing And it hurts. my hands seem unfamiliar. As though they expected to carry a weapon forever and woke instead holding rain. Tell me what becomes of a storm after it forgives the sky? Does it become the river? Does it rise again inside another season? Or does it wander, unseen, through the roots of ordinary days, teaching flowers the language of thunder? I cannot tell. I only know something is ending. Something is beginning. And between those two impossible countries I stand aching opening becoming The wind passes through me now without asking permission. And It hurts Yes.
—Shi