places to be alone
seafoamchild: in a gothic cathedral lying in bed, listening to summer rain a hot bubble bath on a wintery day a bookstore or a library pine forest, neck craned upwards at trees against the sky natural history museum sunrise from a hilltop, with only the birds for company near a crackling fireplace with a good book and a teacup in the grass at sunset, watching the clouds and the...
sonnet xvii: weissewiese: (via amongthedays) Home... →
weissewiese: (via amongthedays) Home is a Sunday afternoon picking blackberries because I am poor and lonely and excellent at making pies out of anything and kind enough to share them with vagrants feral dogs ghosts birds that descend on my backyard talking over one another excited…
Steps to send the sadness away →
boneslace: Think about the things that are making you sad, somewhere, there’s got to be something good, that makes your heart float and carves a smile in your face. Now, follow this, I ― Put on a fancy dress and use a blue ribbon in your hair; sit in your bedroom’s window/garden’s seat; use blue glitter under your eyes and red lipstick; II ― Do soap bubbles (looks even more beautiful in a...
seafoamchild: that I had an oak tree growing in my room so I could hang all my treasures on the branches I wish I had a black horse for sunrise gallops I wish I had a rowboat so I could float away and drift in the water until dusk and stars I wish I had a secret tree house in the forest that only I knew about I wish I had fairy wings and glitter lashes
seafoamchild: n. the kaleidoscopic patterns you see just after closing your eyes to fall asleep, a series of hypnotic indigo and black clouds ghosting over red-cyan bird’s nests that dissolve and shiver into disco-floor spiderwebs fainter than campfire smoke against the night sky, which just makes you need to get up and check your email again. (via dictionaryofobscuresorrows)
The earth laughs in flowers.– E.E. Cummings (via decaying-organic-matter)
I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively...– Sylvia Plath (via misswallflower)
I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand, and the Eskimos...– Brian Andreas (via langst)