Witches going to their Sabbath by Luis Ricardo Falero (1878) from Beauty by Rino Stefano Tagliafierro
vintagegal solvibes

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A house full of scraps of poems, unused ideas. A nest of thoughts, the wood chips from an industrious carpenter of the word. Their abundance, like froth, around my existence, excess, boiling over. I don’t know why I sentenced this or that poem to non-being, to silence; why I wrote down this, but not that thought. All froth. Anna Kamienska, from Industrious Amazement: A Notebook (via violentwavesofemotion)
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violentwavesofemotion commovente
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wnderlst mellow-wonder
Sometimes, I forget that I am young. I forget that I have only been blessed with a quarter of a century. I forget that mistakes are part of trying. I forget that fear is motivation, not food for anxiety. I forget that friendship takes kindness, and openness. I need to forget those who have made me less kind and less open. I forget the way a first kiss feels. I forget to smile sometimes. I forget what it’s like to be wooed, except by myself. I forget that it’s better to woo yourself than to expect others to do it for you. I forget how to give a genuine hug to someone other than my mother and my father. Because I’m fearful others won’t return it. I forget the sound of my first boyfriend’s voice. I forget to eat well. I forget to make eye contact, retail has killed a friendlier version of myself. I forget not to stand tall and act like I don’t care, because of how I was approached when I cared. I forget that kindness and courage can go hand in hand. I forget who I was when I was 19. I forget what it looks like when someone wants to be your friend. I forget because I remember that no one can change my life, only I can. I remember these wonderful women who have looked me in the eye, and told me good, and kind words. Strong words. I forget that each day is a blessing. That each day is what I make it. That each day belongs to me and me alone. I forget. I’m going to forget forgetting and start remembering. That Kind Of Woman  (via seulray)
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thatkindofwoman v-ous
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eyeofruru rajfrancis
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yagazieemezi amaalsdrifting

Original illustration created by Jamilla Okubo for the cover of Love Life Music.
stayingunderground amaalsdrifting
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aestheticgoddess oast


you can’t stop loving someone until you’ve stopped believing in them.

until you stop believing in their potential and the existence of it. 

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livaniana journalofanobody

I feel ridiculous and over-dramatic. I apologize I am just angry.

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