The palace smelled of stone and paint, of people and food and beeswax floor polish.
The garden smelled only of flowers and earth.
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“hot girl era” i say to myself as i lay motionless on the floor for the 300th night in a row
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Chelsea Hodson // Saeed Jones
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― Elena Ferrante, The Story of a New Name
[text ID: There are people who leave and people who know how to be left.]
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05.15.22
could’ve sworn it was february yesterday..
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it is so weird that my copying mechanism is creating scenarios that are never going to happen and then, crying because they are never going to happen
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I have a way of acting bad when I’m sad. I feel around for comfort in the dark like laying down on a plush carpet welcoming the midnight rain; it’s the sound of my pain. It feels nice to to be enveloped delicately by darkness when the light only knows how to bite. It’s not always the devil tricking you but instead God sitting with you in the deep blue room patiently waiting to walk out with you.
Dara Karadag
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― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles
[text ID: My mind is filled with cataclysm and apocalypse: I wish for earthquakes, eruptions, flood. Only that seems large enough to hold all of my rage and grief. I want the world overturned like a bowl of eggs, smashed at my feet.]
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