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nature series 3/∞

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everyday is valentines day if u are a fool and have love in yourheart

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i made a uquiz where i designate you “____ to lovers” pls validate me by reblogging & tagging with what u get

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“He’d never cared much for strawberries, but that summer her lips were so stained with the juices that they were all he tasted. And he’d never had a favourite fruit, but two years later, a new girl is sat in front of him, laughing at his jokes. “If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?” She asks playfully. And he remembers how her hands traced the veins in his neck and made their way across his chest. He remembers her soft breathing and limbs draped across his shoulders. “Strawberries.” He tells her. “I could live a life on nothing but strawberries.””

— S.Z. // Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #54 -“Strawberries” (via blossomfully)

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Confessional // Sue Zhao

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my friend made a uquiz & it is beautiful and i got called out SO HARD

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“I think poetry is a way of carrying grief, but it’s also a way of putting it somewhere so I don’t always have to heave it onto my back or in my body. The more I put grief in a poem, the more I am able to move freely through the world because I have named it, spoken it, and thrown it out into the sky. Everyone has grief that they carry and sometimes we have anxiety and depression about anticipatory grief. The thing that I’ve found that helps is knowing we are all in this, someone has gone or is going through the same thing. Poetry helps us with that too. Writing. Reading. As James Baldwin said, “You think your pain and heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, and then you read.“”

— Ada Limón interviewed by Lauren LeBlanc, BOMB Magazine (via amaalsdrifting)

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“sometimes it takes more death than I can endure to caress life / if you could have seen my face the moment I realized no help was coming”

— — CAConrad, from “You Cannot Return A Stretched Mind,” We Want It All: An Anthology of Radical Trans Poetics, eds. Andrea Abi-Karam & Kay Gabriel (via lifeinpoetry)

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i am way beyond the point of loving you for only your good

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biathanatos, nicola maye goldberg

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“Among the many forms of alienation, the most frequent one is alienation in language. If I express a feeling with a word, let us say, if I say “I love you,” the word is meant to be an indication of the reality which exists within myself, the power of my loving. The word “love” is meant to be a symbol of the fact love, but as soon as it is spoken it tends to assume a life of its own, it becomes a reality. I am under the illusion that the saying of the word is the equivalent of the experience, and soon I say the word and feel nothing, except the thought of love which the word expresses. The alienation of language shows the whole complexity of alienation. Language is one of the most precious human achievements; to avoid alienation by not speaking would be foolish – yet one must be always aware of the danger of the spoken word, that it threatens to substitute itself for the living experience. The same holds true for all other achievements of man; ideas, art, any kind of man-made objects. They are man’s creations; they are valuable aids for life, yet each one of them is also a trap, a temptation to confuse life with things, experience with artifacts, feeling with surrender and submission.”

— Erich Fromm, Marx’s Concept of Man

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Solar Flare by Eleanor Hsieh

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— Alain De Botton, from Essays in Love

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PARALLELS: lovers and the multiverse theory.

credits: 1. gaby dunn; 2. tumblr user @arifables / @okayophelia (deactivated) ; 3. tongari; 4. forugh farrokhzad; 5. an instagram user who deleted their account; 6. dulce maría loynaz; 7. natalie diaz; 8. amal el-mohtar.

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tag your results!

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It’s own form of companionship; the reliable silence of her rooms. 

i. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers. I can tell he doesn't know what to say, the words snagged in his throat like a fish hook at all the wrong angles. I’m terrified that if I tug at it -- things will tear and blood will bleed and we are finished. 

(I'm wondering whether it would be better that he said nothing at all. To let me marinate, face burning and skin tingling, in the silence of my confession. One of the biggest secrets in my universe.)

I resist the urge to tease you. I need to get past this overwhelming desire to fill every pocket of quiet with my laughter or yours, because that is not what we are built for.

We sit, audio crackling across cheap store-bought microphones. The night sky is cold -- enough to know that if you were next to me right now, you would peel off your jacket and hand it to me wordlessly before turning back to the sky. You leave me breathless at every turn, so much so that I have to grip the fraying of my own sweater and remind me this is not yours.

I am not yours, you are not mine.

You apologise for not knowing what to say. I laugh, and grip my fingers together tightly. No worries, I say.

There is a time for silence to envelop us, to embrace us. Not today.

(I want to tell you all my secrets -- in this universe, every universe.)