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laurie and amy + song lyrics: i love you, i'm sorry by gracie abrams

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why do computers even need updates. I love her the way she is…

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I’m amazed there’s people nostalgic for highschool and being a teenager literally when I feel super low I think “well at least I’ll never be 17 again” like a positive affirmation and it does make me feel better

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Francine Van Hove, “Quai des brumes / The quay of fog”, 2012, oil on canvas. B. 1942, Saint-Mandé, Seine, France.

“There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away Nor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry…“

― Emily Dickinson, Selected Poems. 

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if anything else happens to me i’m not enduring it. somebody else do that

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'When did you last see your mother? someone asked me. Someone who was walking with me in the city. I didn't want to tell her; I thought in this city, a past was precisely that. Past. Why do I have to remember? In the old world, anyone could be a new creation, the past was washed away. Why should the new world be so inquisitive? 'Don't you ever think of going back?' Silly question. There are threads that help you find your way back, and there are threads that intend to bring you back. Mind turns to the pull, it's hard to pull away. I'm always thinking of going back. When Lot's wife looked over her shoulder, she turned into a pillar of salt. Pillars hold things clean, but it's a poor exchange for losing your self. People do go back, but they don't survive, because two realities are claiming them at the same time. Suchthings are too much. You can salt your heart, or kill your heart, or you can choose between the two realities. There is much pain here. Some people think you can have your cake and eat it. The cake goes mouldy and they choke on what's left. Going back after a long time will make you mad, because the people you left behind do not like to think of you changed, will treat you as they always did, accuse you of being indifferent, when you are only different. 'When did you last see your mother?' I don't know how to answer. I know what I think, but words in the head are like voices under water. They are distorted. Hearing the words as they hit the surface is sensitive work. You will have to be a bankrobber and listen and listen to the little clicks before you can open the safe.

Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit (1985)

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whatever dude i dont even look that tormented mostly

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Necklace | Georg Jensen. 1950s

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The beauty of living in a walkable city is that when you feel sad you can just walk and walk and walk till you stumble upon a place that makes you feel better

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wings of desire irl

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Mary Jo Bang, "Our Evening Is Over Us," A Film in Which I Play Everyone

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A Cloud and Landscape Study by Moonlight by Johan Christian Dahl

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