#{ muse }

[arylleth]

Time passing isn’t an apology. It is not the hand that wipes the slate clean, nor the whisper that softens the sharp edge of a wound. It does not speak for us; it does not absolve what was left broken. Time only moves forward—cold, indifferent, dragging our sins in its wake like ghosts that refuse to rest. Did you think that silence, stretched long enough, would turn regret into dust? That the years would erode memory as the tide wears away the shore? “The past is never dead. It’s not even past,” Faulkner warned (Requiem for a Nun), but still, you waited. Still, you let time slip between us like sand through an open palm, as if distance could be mistaken for penance. But love is not a thing that fades when neglected—it curdles, it turns in on itself, becomes something bitter, something unrecognizable. And yet, love is also the cruelest thing to kill. Even when abandoned, it lingers in the marrow, in the hushed moments before sleep, in the ache of a name unsaid. “Love is so short, forgetting is so long,” Neruda confessed (Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines), and I have found this to be true. Tell me—do you think the flowers forgave the frost simply because spring arrived? Do you think the wound forgets the knife simply because the bleeding has stopped? Time may soften the edges, but it does not unmake what was done. The echoes remain. The absence remains. Shakespeare knew this when he wrote, “Things without all remedy should be without regard: what’s done is done” (Macbeth). But we are liars if we say we do not regard it. We do. We carry the weight of our undoing in the hollows of our ribs, in the spaces where once we said I love you and later only silence answered. So no, time is not an apology. It is only a door that closes while we stand on the other side, hands pressed against the wood, knowing we should have knocked before it was too late.

[deadlypoetacademia]

[jequan]

Solange for Document Journal

[graphicgleeshop]

https://society6.com/art/rhapsody-in-fur

A woman sits with her vibrant and graceful cat, capturing a timeless moment of companionship and interaction.

[blynch-tt]

@sethrollinstt

[graceandopulence]

[cumtastiics]

"oh... how beautiful you are," his voice slightly shaky as he whispered, the back of his hand caressing your cheek.

he admired you. the way you spoke so kindly, how your voice was so sweet compared to other people.

you were a gift from god.

"please stay still for me, my love.. i can't have you squirming around while i paint, now can i?" his voice was still soft, never daring to raise it even the slightest bit.

he never wanted to share you. was that bad? you could be his pretty little doll... whimpering and begging for him.

"f-uh-ck," he'd moaned desperately in your ear. you're so perfect for him, whimpering at each touch. "don't cum yet, y-you can hold it in.. right? be a good doll.."

he wasn't a loud person, he never was. yet, whenever he made out with you, it felt like he could never stop talking about you.

"s-so pretty," he shivered, watching you reach your climax. "good doll.."

he could never degrade you... you were too perfect for that.

he gently wiped your tears with his thumb, desperately trying to go as gentle as he could with his cock sliding in and out, but he really couldn't help it. "i'm sorry.. you're doing sososo good for me.."

after all, he was the painter and you were his muse.

tried to make it g/n.. i don't really write smut like stuff so idk if I did it well

[ayakoito]

@crew-from-capulet

MY FAULT: LONDON ( 2025 ) dir. Charlotte Fassler, Dani Girdwood

[taweetie]

[inrealm]

sex while it’s raining in the background >

[champagnemoon]

Baby Phat After Party V.I.P. Room - September 11, 2005

[arylleth]

Monologue: In the Shadows of Your Heart

I’d stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I’m not afraid of your dark. Not the jagged edges, not the storm that rages where no one dares to tread. I would press my hands against the cold walls of you, feel the echo of the wounds you never speak of, and I would not flinch. Do you know what it means to love a darkness and not try to tame it? To stand before the abyss of another soul and, instead of turning away, step closer? “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same,” Emily Brontë once wrote (Wuthering Heights). And so, if your soul is night, then let me be the wild, untamed wind that rushes through it, not to quiet it, but to dance in its shadows. There is beauty in the ruin, a terrible, exquisite poetry in the things you fear make you unlovable. And I—I do not come to rescue you from yourself. I come to say I will not leave. If love were only for the easy parts, the light-filled corners, then it would be no love at all, only a fragile, gilded thing unworthy of the name. But the kind of love that lingers in the dark? That sees the storm and does not cower? That is the love that shapes legends, the love of Hades and Persephone, of Orpheus who turned back because even the gods could not teach him to unlove. Vladimir Nabokov wrote, “I am not afraid of you. You cannot hurt me more than you have already hurt yourself.” And isn’t that the truth of it? The worst you could do to me, you have already done to yourself a thousand times over. But I am still here. And I will remain, even when you ask me to leave. Even when your hands tremble with the weight of your ghosts. So let the darkness rise, if it must. Let the tempest howl its rage. I will not run. For I have always belonged to the night. And if your heart is made of shadows, then let me be the voice within them, whispering— I am not afraid.

“I’d stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I’m not afraid of your dark.”

— Andrea Gibson

[nudistrose]

BLACK BEAUTY

[starlight-bread-blog]

(IT COULD BE WRONG COULD BE WRONG)

ARE WE DIGGING A HOLE🗣🗣🗣‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥‼️🔥‼️🗣🗣‼️‼️‼️‼️🗣🗣‼️🔥🔥‼️🗣‼️🔥‼️🔥🔥

IT COULD BE WRONG COULD BE WRONG🗣️🗣️🗣️🦅‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🙏🗣️‼️🗣️🗣️🙏🗣️🙏🔥🔥🔥👅🔥🙏🗣️🙏🗣️🗣️🙏🗣️🗣️🙏🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥‼️‼️

[d-ovee]

Erato, Muse of Love Poetry

Albertina • Vienna, Austria