Kink: When pretty girls flirt w me
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And things which i thought would kill me, taught me how to live.
─ Tahseen Anam
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You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place. Like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place because you'll never be this way ever again.
- Azar Nafisi // Reading Lolita in Tehran
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Just letting you know, I have no intention of stabbing you 23 times on the Ides of March
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i always knew that femininity came at a cost, i just didn’t realise that cost would be everything
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Oh the years of only being allowed 2nd hand tumblr
i actually dont mind tumblr posts reposted to pinterest. the 13 y/o "pinterest in the only social media my parents let me have" girlies deserve a little treat
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Something something feminine rage and on the cusp of insanity
I was looking into break rooms (those places that give u a bat and let u smash stuff) and this line got me
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“When will you have a little pity for every soft thing that walks through the world, yourself included?”
— Mary Oliver, from Pen And Paper And A Breath Of Air in “Blue Pastures”
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Wednesday netflix adaptation is dark academia. I will not be accepting criticism
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It’s official: love is for losers
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— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, from letters to Natalie Paley
[text ID: Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence.]
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The Algorithmic Beauty of Plants, Aristid Lindenmayer and Przemysław Prusinkiewicz.
You can freely read it here.
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“Pour water over each wound. What about the wound inside me, the wound I was born into? Where do I pour when I am the wound? I am what wounds me.”
— Sanna Wani, from “Princess Mononoke (1997)”, My Grief, the Sun
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Guys I feel like such a sham I don’t even dress dark academia in real life most days I dress like someone who you can tell used to have an emo phase and then elevated their style
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“I weep and weep and wish that her understanding of the world were real. That grief was not about the utter impossibility of return.”
— Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, from “Notes on Grief”
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