Latest Posts by edmond-monet - Page 2

have a cat.

Roses, Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

sometimes,

I fear,

I feel too much.

EVERY TIME I LOOK BACK, MY CHILDHOOD GROWS HORNS; ON AGING.

lorde // iasoup on tumblr // alain de botton // jenny slate // katie maria // silas denver melvin // chelsea wolfe

-despite everything, there is still love

@arthoesunshine/ @artsheila/ @daisies-on-a-cup/ @gayarsonist / @hjarta/ @yunawinter on twitter/ @bakwaaas/ @death-born-aphrodite/ anon on gentleearth/ @classicnymph on twitter

I know he loves me because he's breathing the same air as me, if he didn't love me, he wouldn't be breathing.

pictures where the sea and sky are no longer distinguishable

how do i prolong love?

it’s as if I poured gasoline on my heart

lit it up

and expected it not to burn out in an instant.

I want the kind of love that smolders,

the kind that may not be passionate,

but ever present, ever warm, ever burning.

come lie with me in the embers, dearest.

we can curl up on the coals

and burn together.

With @staff 's recent post saying 1/4 of this site is LGBTQ going around, I'd like to see what the actual demographic is

So!

Please reblog for bigger sample size!

Dirt road Polna droga

The sunset tonight.

Alpine lotus leaf flower

northern lights photographed from space

in dedication to summer rain and the smell of petrichor

Hydroluminescence

(c) gifs by riverwindphotography,July 2023

Here’s a video so you can hear the water and the thrushes. I took it for you because you couldn’t be there. <3

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

the horror clawing at me as my eyes snap open,

terrified of images that are intangible

and cannot harm me any longer.

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

To be loved means to be consumed. To love means to radiate with inexhaustible light. To be loved is to pass away, to love is to endure.

—Rainer Maria

And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape

How to Save Your Own Life, Erica Jong

Vincent Van Gogh's painting details

our home should have colours and flowers. daisy sims hilditch / christine atkins / stephen darbishire / marie-louise roosevelt pierrepont

one of these days,

you will ask me to hold you,

and I will crush you in my hands.

not through any ill intent,

but out of never learning to love

and never learning the art of being gentle

there are so many scars on my body, but i could not tell you where they came from. not because i do not want to, but because i do not know.

my lungs.

they are too small for my body.

they have not the mass to handle each shuddering breath, each desperate gasp that begs “please, please, let me express something”

my body.

it is too small for my feelings.

it snaps and groans and stretches to try to accommodate the maelstrom within my chest, to no avail, so the scream claws its way up my throat and out my mouth, hurling insult and injury towards anyone nearby.

and I stand in the aftermath,

in the rubble,

and wonder what I have become.

The Poet, Reynier Llanes, 2021

i am laying flowers at the grave

of the man who killed me;

and there is nothing god could do

to stop me now.

dear god,

i have grown since we last spoke, but i have not forgotten. i will never forget.

the silence will be etched on the canvas of my memory for all of eternity

your world, this world, that ebbs and flows so beautifully

the passage of time is a rich work of art that so few understand

and as it spins, the things that die create new life

flowers grow among the bones and

leaves sprout from the ashes and

i am still here.

i wish to die like a star, glowing and gleaming and destructively beautiful.