wrennly. resting after such a long day. trying to drum up energy to rp. if interested, please pm me
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# SUNSWEETS. indie blog for the farmer of stardew valley / harvest moon / story of seasons ; an ex bartender that moved from the city and inherited her grandfather's farm .. except she has no idea about what the hell she's doing. highly selective & mutuals only. minors & personals dni. penned by regan ( she / her ; 32 ). revamped 03.16.2024. ↻ and ♡ are appreciated !
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wrennly. lowkey online? <3
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wrennly. who wants to talk? && / or plot!
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Hermann Hesse, Demian
originally published 1919
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you have loved enough, now let me be the lover.
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feldgrau
hesitant, neutrality, italy's markets, intelligence, regretful.
you have so many things that you'd like to apologize for.
your world has lost a majority of its luster and color due to all the things you've done and regretted, all the things you want to take back or try again. the people you've lost have told you that you need to work on yourself, and you don't know where to start anymore - you're not sure you ever truly did.
it's cold, in the world, and you don't know how to make it warm for everyone, which is where your mistake lies.
the world is cold and cruel, and indifferent to those who walk the earth.
but that doesn't mean you can't try.
(you have to TRY.)
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Hélène Cixous, Stigmata
Reading in Painting.
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"our women are cattle; there's blood on our kids. are you being paid to not pay attention?" she asked the sky above. "does it have to happen to your mother, to your sister, to your daughter for you to take it personal?"
open starter featuring Mairi
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Wrennly. I did it
Is she good? Not really? But am I proud anyway? Yes.
wrennly. screams in frustration. i want to art but my hand. my hand does not want to art.
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wrennly. screams in frustration. i want to art but my hand. my hand does not want to art.
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“Everything touches me—I see too much, I hear too much, everything demands too much of me.”
—
Clarice Lispector II Why This World: A Biography of Clarice Lispector
(via violentwavesofemotion)
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" It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader. "
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
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