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@menelvagor ♡

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Sylvia Plath, aged 25, from "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath" (dated May 14, 1958)

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june by Kenneth Steven

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Textures at Low Tide. Devon, UK

Photographed by Freddie Ardley - instagram

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Gu Cheng , from a poem titled "Narrative," featured in Modern Chinese Poetry: An Anthology

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My love language is creating a sacred space for you to take off your armor.

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headcanon . Lothíriel has always been drawn to beauty in all its quiet forms. Her childhood was full of sunlit mornings and storm-wrapped twilights, and from both she learned the value of stillness and passion.

Her hands are rarely idle. She embroiders scenes of swan-ships and stars, of white towers and rolling hills. She plays the harp. Softly, mostly. For herself or small, trusted audiences. She swims in the sea, not merely for sport but for solace. Even in Rohan, far from the tides, she seeks out rivers and lakes, their cold a balm. There is a freedom in water she has never quite found on land.

She paints, too. Oils, mostly, rich and deep. In her early years as Queen Consort of Rohan, she filled sketchbooks with the sharp lines of mountains and the golden sway of the Riddermark’s grasses. Later, her portraits take on subtler themes – men in armour or with wind-ruffled hair, their stances speaking of watchfulness and war. Éomer appears in them all. Not always fully, but in echoes. In a jawline, a scar, a tilt of the brow. She paints what she finds beautiful, and Éomer becomes a lens through which she sees.

Lothíriel keeps the salt and the softness of Dol Amroth alive in a land of wind and wild horses. Through thread, through strings, through brush and water, she makes her life a gallery of all that she loves.

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Details of Atalanta by John William Godward (1861-1922, British). By artgarments

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deathless ♚ sentence meme

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.

You are going to break your promise. I understand.

You’re lonely too.

It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be.

I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable.

I am your servant.

I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased.

For you alone I will be weak.

I belong here, and you will not deny me.

I say these things, and the world listens.

I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried.

In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.

I will not let her speak because I love her, and when you love someone, you do not make them tell war stories.

I moved the earth and the water for you.

You will always run away with her.

You will always lose her.

You will always be a fool.

You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear.

You have already done all of this and will do it again.

No one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.

We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying.

What we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.

There need never be any rules between us.

Let us be greedy together; let us hoard.

Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me.

I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I.

Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.

I can’t abide a poor liar.

You look like a winter’s night. I could sleep inside the cold of you.

Oh, quit that. Blushing is for virgins and Christians.

Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me.

Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing.

In his own country, Death can be kind.

What is the world but a boxing ring where fools and devils put up their fists?

Men die. It’s practically what they’re for.

I am no one; I am nothing.

Nothing in me was not made by you.

A revelation is always the end of something. It might even be cause for grief.

Just tell yourself a story that’ll satisfy you and pretend he told it.

Forever isn’t bright; it isn’t like that. Forever is cold and hard and final.

I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived.

If you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife.

What did I do wrong? Was I boring? Did I ignore you?

Don’t you dare speak to me like that.

I have worn nothing but blood and death for years.

I have fought all your battles for you, just as you asked me.

I have learned not to cry when I strangle a man.

I have learned to watch everything die.

I am not a little girl anymore, dazzled by your magic. It is my magic, now, too.

Are we not devils?

No one is now what they were before the war.

I have not seen you without your skin on.

Close up your head; your brain is getting loose.

We obsess. It’s in our nature.

I’ve a devil of a habit for being right.

In war you must always choose sides.

If you try to be a bridge laid down between them, they will tear you in half.

We are all dead. All equal. Broken and aimless and believing we are alive.

My old bones will follow yours soon enough.

It is better to be strong and cruel than to be fair.

I will see him with his skin off before I agree to fall in love.

After love, no one is what they were before.

I have survived, but I have not been spared.

In the space of one heartbeat to another I loved you and I was lost to you.

Frighten me, make me cry, only come back.

It’s not so bad, my darling. Being dead. It’s like being alive, only colder.

You’ll think it’s love, while he dines on your heart.

You will be so beautiful when you are old.

I cannot keep you and I cannot let you go.

You will live as you live in any world…with difficulty, and grief.

I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.

She said you’d come and I swore to eat your heart.

I still want to kiss you.

My heart is being cut in two. I cannot bear it.

What happens to anything beautiful?

I have to know, I have to or else you will just rule me until the end of everything because you know and I do not.

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Incoming Tide, 1934. Hayley Lever. Oil on canvas

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i would totally wash the blood off your hands btw. if u even care🙄

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Mahtem Shiferraw, Your Body is War; “The Art of Invisibility”

[Text ID: So I have mastered the art of being invisible, so breathless, if I opened my mouth only clouds would come out,]

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Joy Sullivan, from “Move to Oregon in July”, Instructions for Traveling West