Enchanting Interior* - Alison βSnowyβ Campbell , 1970s
American , b. late 1940s
Watercolour on paper
*The Enchanting Interiors of Bunny Mellon
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
One Nice Bug Per Day
noise dept.
Monterey Bay Aquarium
sheepfilms
Misplaced Lens Cap
AnasAbdin
$LAYYYTER

η₯ζ₯ / Permanent Vacation

pixel skylines

Sweet Seals For You, Always

oozey mess
Three Goblin Art
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
todays bird

Product Placement

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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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@vibrantvida
Enchanting Interior* - Alison βSnowyβ Campbell , 1970s
American , b. late 1940s
Watercolour on paper
*The Enchanting Interiors of Bunny Mellon

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not for riches but for loveΒ medieval posie ring

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may we all find the love we deserve
i keep going but i donβt know if itβs momentum or resignation
there are days where it feels like iβm walking through my life as a ghost of someone i donβt remember being. everything looks almost right. the same walls, the same routines, the same conversations but nothing feels connected. itβs like iβm pressing my face against the glass of my own existence, watching the version of me everyone else knows move around without me.
i donβt feel lost anymore. lost requires a destination.
this feels more like drifting. a slow, dull unraveling no one else can see.
thereβs this strange quiet inside me. not peaceful, not gentle, justβ¦vacant. like a room where the furnitureβs been taken out but the outlines are still faintly there on the carpet. shadows of feelings instead of feelings themselves. i wake up and itβs like my body remembers the motions but the part that cared about any of it is off somewhere else, unreachable.
sometimes i try to recall who i used to be.
her laugh, her intensity, her certainty about things but itβs blurry, like trying to remember a dream long after waking up. and the more i reach for her, the more it feels like she wasnβt real in the first place.
a phase. a glitch. a moment that burned out faster than i was ready for.
people say things like βyouβre growing,β or βyouβre evolvingβ but i donβt feel like something becoming. i feel like something fading. getting thinner at the edges. less anchored. less here.
i try to be better, to care, to show up, but it all feels like acting. like muscle memory. i keep waiting for a day when something cuts through the static. joy, grief, clarity, anything with an edge but everything hits me soft now, like itβs been wrapped in cotton before it reaches me.
what scares me isnβt the darkness itself. itβs how familiar itβs becoming. how easy it is to slip into the version of me who feels nothing and expects nothing. how that version fits in a way i canβt decide is comfortable or just permanent.
maybe the best version of me didnβt disappear so much as dissolve. pieces thinning out until the shape remained but the substance didnβt.
maybe sheβs somewhere else now? living a life i didnβt choose.
and maybe the version thatβs leftβ¦ this muted, drifting, half-here version is the one that stays. not broken. not dramatic, justβ¦dim. the quiet after the echo. the outline after the color bleeds out.
i donβt know if thatβs healing or just surviving.
and i donβt know if it even matters.
Water Lilies, Bamboo Giant Nursery

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Odilon Redon (1840-1916) Fighting skeletons
Heart-shaped boxes for your secrets...
daphne et naΓ―s
Wave in Backlight - Peter Witt
German , b. 1966 -
Oil on canvas, 80 x 80 cm.

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Bust a move, Ronit Porat (because)
faded memories in expired film (2017)