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dior cruise 2026

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im 12 years old sitting on my bed reading it’s midnight it’s summer my window is open the crickets are very loud but very soothing my room smells dusty and warm and no one else exists. im 12 years old. the feeling never goes away.

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you’re going to be so loved. you think what you’ve felt before them is big, real, right, the only. but oh my god, you’re going to be so loved you’re not going to know what to do with it all. you’re not going to know where to put it all when they hand it to you. you’re just going to start giving it to everybody else, smiling at every stranger on the street. all the pennies are going to be facing up for you and you won’t even feel like you need to pick them up. you haven’t met this person yet but they’re there. they’re thinking about the person who doesn’t want them like they wish they did. they’re wondering if that could be it for them. they’re stuck like you, neither of you realizing you don’t have to be stuck. they’re in a bookstore trying to distract themselves from this unrequited thing and a book catches their attention. the only copy, wedged between some others they didn’t see at all. it catches their attention and they buy it without even opening it. this is the book you’ve had next to your bed for three years. the book you carried with you for so long that the colors started changing on the cover, the pages started falling out. they take this book home and set it on the kitchen table, still not opening it. they set it next to an open cereal box and a dirty spoon. it sits there for a long time. they don’t open it until they feel like it is time to be somewhere else, like it is time to be a new person. they lay on their couch with a dim lamp behind them, casting a shadow on the pages. they read the whole thing in one night and they don’t even sleep. they just watch the sun rise and then go to work. you don’t know you’re going to love this person yet. you don’t even know what their hair color is, or what their laugh sounds like drunk at four in the morning. you don’t know what gets them to stop feeling sad, you don’t know that it’s going to be you. you feel the space around you. it’s almost loud right now. you feel it and you can’t believe that a person is going to fill it up, quiet it all down. you can’t believe that someday a person you haven’t met yet is going to take up all of the space in the world. but they’re going to. and it’s going to be everything that you were looking for. it’s going to be everything that this person was not ready to give you.

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Book of Love

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another weekend, another birthday cake for a friend

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IG @ Hirokolele’s Auntie Nani wears beautiful flowers Dendrobium Top , Protea flower bottom

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A Victorian puzzle purse for a special someone's birthday 💌 ✨

See it unfolding here

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― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

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hey when the fuck are things gonna get easier

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propaganda i am not falling for:

always moving on. some goodbyes need to rot a little. some griefs need to be held in the mouth like a stone.

beauty defined by algorithms. beauty exists in crow feet and smile lines

pretending to be chill. i’m not chill. i care deeply and inconveniently. i read into things. i write poems about eye contact

beige apartments with no soul. give me bookshelves and incense and loud art

sneaky links and unclear intentions. i want devotion. and also clarity

treating books as decor. read them. dog-ear them. argue with them in the margins

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