stubborn-angels

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good bones by maggie smith saturday . give it up for good bones by maggie smith saturday

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i think about this scene from pride and prejudice (2005) a whole lot

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Hafen von Triest, 1907, 1908

by Egon Schiele

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Untitled  -   David Remfry , 1988.

British, b. 1942 -

Lithograph, 89.6 x 68cm,

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oh i’m about to have a bit of a sob thinking about summer nights in france spain italy having dinner in the city and then walking back to wherever you’re staying at 11pm and it’s dark but the heat of the day still lingers and the street lights are more orange than they are at home and there’s a light breeze and you just had the best meal of your life and somehow the air feels fresher than it ever has

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pictures that are personal to me

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i love pasta and bread and ignoring responsibilities

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Erika Lee Sears, Wine Aisle, 2021

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Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss by Antonio Canova

by Sappho

Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

To Fanny Brawne (13 October, 1819), John Keats

The Kiss, 1907 by Gustav Klimt

The Meeting in a Dream, Jorge Luis Borges

Holy Things in This World, Emery Allen

You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

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art, intimacy, romance.

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@mrgryphon - The thrill, the fear, the hope, oil on paper, 2021

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fast car by tracy chapman isnt even a song thats God

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Anna Akhmatova, tr. by Lenore Mayhew and William Mcnaughton, from Poem Without A Hero and Selected Poems; “In a dream”

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and at dawn the world is painted in honey

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I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don't tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you're left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other's diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in '07.

Movies and books also don't tell you that friendships don't just end after one fight or incident, it's like the rusting of a bridge, the slow decay of flesh and bones and secrets. It took weeks, months- until one day I woke up and I realized I hadn't thought of her in a while. And I wrote a poem that day and I titled it 'The dying of a best friend' and I put all my love for her in a tiny box with my half of the matching pendant of a dolphin we had and stored them in a corner of my heart under the heading Grief. Where else can one hide unspent love?

It's been 3 years since I lost my best friend, lost as in I still carry our secrets in a tiny box but we only text each other on our birthdays.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

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.. by Lauren Naefe