Pigeon steals poppies from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Australian War Memorial, Canberra, Australia in order to build a nest beside a stained glass window.
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I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say ��bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to to the person holding it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead - you first,” “I like your hat.”
- Danusha Laméris, “Small Kindnesses"
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I want a home mostly just to welcome people into it. There will be bowls of candy for guests, and the cookie jar is full. I’ll always say “I was just about to make a coffee/tea/cocoa, would you like one?” when somebody walks in. There’s lemonade and iced tea made fresh on hot days. Once it hits That Hour and they start saying they really should be going, I’ll remind them that the futon is always open, and I’m making cinnamon rolls tomorrow. There’s champagne and sparkling juice hidden on a high shelf just in case somebody announces their engagement or their pregnancy or their new job while they’re here. There is an extra chair in the living room, at the table, and on the deck, and it’s for you. I want to be able to say “if you’re ever in trouble, come to me.”
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Never Morning Wore to Evening, but Some Heart Did Break, 1894. Walter Langley.
A Hopeless Dawn, 1888. Frank Bramley.
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So does good omens have like, a plot and shit or, like are michael sheen and hot david tennant just the main characters. I was under the impression they were like background to an actual plot but it seems it’s literally just about their enemies to lovers slowburn
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3x13 || 4x05
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The Quiraing, Isle of Skye, Scotland / 15.10.2019
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me: say it— i need to hear those three words
library database: Full Text Online
me, shedding tears: i love you too
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bitch people who do pottery...............your hands..............................i cannot even begin to imagine
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im sentimental. i sleep a lot. sometimes i cry a little on public transport. when my friends tell me they love me, i feel as though my heart will burst. i take pictures of nice dogs i see on the street. i notice the changing of the seasons, and i get excited. i like fresh fruit. little things make me happy, and i hope i stay this way.
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i dont know who needs this but stop waiting for other people to go with you to do shit. go out and experience shit by yourself. sometimes you have to create your own experiences without other people.
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