You're In Love. There's No Cure For That.

summer haze: the slow march of the day, a golden glow from the heat outside, a lingering kiss on your cheek, languorous music from back porches, the juice of ripe apricots, fading tan marks, pages of poetry books, beige bathing suits while sunbathing

if the weather of the last days had an aesthetic

English literature academia aesthetic appreciation post.

sun showers are so pretty!

cool rocks :)

fuck you for making me a poet.

My relationship with time is complicated. I either feel like four hours is two minutes or I feel like five minutes is twelve hours. Months don't make sense because some of them feel like they take four months and others don't feel like months at all. I could've sworn I was 16 eight years ago and I feel like I've been alive at least 74 years and this month doesn't feel like January because I'm still in the same mental state as I was in November.

By Kawanabe Kyōsai (Japanese, 1831-1889)

Holding it Up.

i just wanna dance to the wind