Antoine de Saint-Exupéry for me has the same kind of tender mysticism people associate with Vincent Van Gogh
One a writer that draws, and the other a painter that writes; both sharing the ideal of finding joy and love in the little things - joy tainted with melancholy, often, but joy nonetheless - and love. So much of it.
And both men gone too soon.
Vincent's paintings still have an impact on people, as do his letters. Antoine's writing still touches many, as do his doodles.
I can picture The Little Prince in The Wheat Fields
can i get a hell yea if you’re still gonna be wasting your time on this website in 2014
literally me rn im dreading the walk to class
it's raining so much outside, everything feels so calm with only the sound of the rain drops being heard, the wheater it's just perfect to take a nap all wrapped up and cozy with my weighted blanket...
if only my joints weren't hurting to the point it's difficult to focus on anything else let alone fall asleep damn
tumblr users love reading. you literally stopped for this post just because it has words in it
check out literally just sitting outside if u can. the hobby of the summer
sorry i completely shut down hearing fireworks lol do you still think im sexy
Person who wants to do stuff trapped in a body that needs to lie down
that one friend who’s always cold: i’m cold
that one friend who can see ghosts: which is weird because you’re not even being haunted right now or anything
i don't smoke for the obvious reasons of not wanting to develop an addiction to nicotine but god do i so often feel the emotion 'i need a cigarette'.
• • • • she/they • • im an adult • • • • posting into the void like it's my own personal playground
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