She Asked Me If I Miss Her While She's On Sick Leave From School.

Don't make me find pleasure in the little things

Yes, I almost cried feeling cold air on my face in the morning

It made me so happy when I bought three different spices for my tea yesterday.

But please, don't make me find pleasure in the little things. I need those adventures.

I need love, and life. I need big moments with dresses on fire. I need to know that life is big magic, too. I need real tears of joy and explosions.

I know, you're talking of awe. But it feels like you're extending an aiding hand to stroke my hair.

To make a pastel colour not look so muted.

I want it all

I want the princess blue and the nutcracker red

Is that okay? I'd take both, thank you. Here's the change.

drew over something i wrote for a class and liked :] sorry the cars are lowkey ugly, its because I fucking hate cars and cant be bothered to learn what they look like beyond ominous hunks of metal

edit: transcript of the poem by itself under the cut

6 Tips for Crossing the Road

Look both ways

The road is for cars. 

Make sure to look for them before crossing. Even when you have the right of way, cars have a lot of safety features and you have none. 

Use designated crosswalks 

The road is for cars. 

So is the crosswalk but, under brief and temporary conditions, you can use it too! Never jaywalk, never walk in the road, just hope there is a clear and functional sidewalk. 

Cross at the light

The road is for cars. 

There are rules and signs for them, but that can only go so far. Walk quickly and hold your breath and hope that the light doesn't turn. Make eye contact with drivers as their cars teem with potential energy, rumbling with disdain at the inconvenience of your crossing. Try to ignore the cloud of exhaust that you are in and they are above. 

Leash your pets

The road is for cars. 

Obviously. 

To you, it may be natural to sacrifice so much space to them but to your dog, it is not. His instinct is to explore freely. You must curb it. Modern US car models have such high hoods that the average child, let alone dog, is obscured. Even on the sidewalk, hold the leash tight because the sidewalk (if you are so blessed) is next to the street and the threat still looms.

Look out for road kill

The road is for cars. 

And no one was there to leash the deer. 

Or the raccoon. 

Or the cat. 

Did you know that the most reliable sample method for wildlife in an area is looking at the roadkill? 

Remember these tips

The road is for cars. 

Cars are everywhere. In the city. In the suburbs. In the country. In the woods (the US Forest Service manages more roads than the entire Ministry of Transit in China.) Cars are everywhere because there are roads to bring them there, which is great if you are a car and want to get from place to place fast without worrying about the in-between. 

Unfortunately, you are not a car. 

You are an animal. 

You are in-between. 

So remember to look both ways. 

Different Ways to Describe Eye Colors

↳ a masterpost for writing prompts that describe eye colors

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Brown Eyes

Blue Eyes

Green Eyes

Hazel Eyes

Unusual Eyes

Gray Eyes

Heterochromia Eyes

Black Eyes

White Eyes

White/Silver Eyes pt 2

Hazel Green Eyes

Gold/Yellow Eyes

Reddish-Brown Eyes

Red Eyes

via @/_weloveyou__ on tiktok

“tell me a story. i don’t have any to tell. (you wouldn’t believe me if i did.) you always have stories. you already know all the good ones. (the only good ones i have are the ones with you.) then tell me an old one. but you already know how it ends. (i wish i could forget how this one ends. i think i was happier not knowing.) i don’t care. it’s no fun if you know the ending. (you should care. this tragedy is a fairytale without it.) can’t you make one up? i just want to hear a story. fine. i’ll tell you a story. (i’ll tell you a lie. that’s all i have left to give you.) okay. i’m listening. once upon a time, there was a boy with fool’s gold for hair. (and i couldn’t save him.)”

— but I swear I tried. I did. ( j.p. ) || insp. by @noxalnoesis

my aunt used to be a beauty pageant kid. had long, beautiful red hair with a curl pattern that made hairdressers jealous. her mother would pay people lots of money to spend hours styling my aunt's hair

predictably, as a young adult, my aunt cut all of her hair off. buzzed down to the scalp. she still keeps it pretty short- long enough for curls to develop, but only on the top of her head. she says she can't stand the feeling of her hair touching her ears or neck.

recently she's started collecting and styling wigs. she'll even wear them, occasionally, to a fancy event or if she just doesn't want to be bothered by distant family when she goes shopping. and she spends hours styling these wigs, even though she doesn't use them all that often.

i asked her about it. she said that sometimes, growth looks a lot like regression with a twist. that she's reclaiming something she enjoyed as a kid, and could have enjoyed more. she said she's practicing having agency, and that it's a skill that doesn't come very naturally for her. having agency, i mean. she's really good at styling wigs.

US Elevation.

by @cstats1

“𝐵𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐”.

– 𝑂𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑒

I saw a city die

However dramatic we make death out to be, really, a human death is quite easy. Your heart stops. Once. One kind of death for everyone.

Have you ever seen a city die? It's not one death. It's uncountable. A tree so big you can't watch its fall. Like you can't watch the sun travel. There it is. You get distracted. Something flashes on your wall. You look out. It is gone.

A city's deaths are very varied. Some are gardens dying. Some gardens don't die, but really they do. Really, they're dead.

Some are wild trees dying. The ones we watered by mistake, or by a thread of benevolence. Strung through palms and generations, maybe. A collective nurturing, and every solitary splash thought it was alone. They die, until they become the kind of sticks who's snaps are anonymous. There is nothing here.

Some are people leaving. There are a lot of those. But if you watch people leave, you notice they were the ones who came in the first place. Not the ones who already were.

The ones who already were always are. They are the city. Killing an elephant takes rounds of lead to the heart. Still it takes hours untill it falls, days until it stops breathing. It's not easy, killing a dragon. Those that are must be killed differently. They do not leave. But you can make their home hostile to them. Twist and contort it until those that are have no place to be. They find a new spot, of course. A new city. Who's life blood they aren't.

A city dies a hundred deaths. Like watching someone assemble a puzzle, it's not dramatic enough to watch the process. Like sand falling. Suddenly the glass is empty.

The problem is the body. It's our symbol, vessel and object of death. Without it we don't recognise decay.

Death of a city is the rarest thing you'll see. The bigger, the less you see it. The most imposing, the less you'll watch. The more lights, the less you notice the void.

Because it's a lie. And when you notice. Finally notice,

all you see are the whisps; floating. No sound. Unwatched. No meaning in silence. Nothing. Pathetic in the way they outline whatever isn't there anymore.

When will the last time I ever mourn us be?

Will it be a random Tuesday when my grief lets me go? Or will I always find a path back to our bed where you let the warmth wither leaving me in the cold all alone?

The last time I think of you might not be some profound longing thought. I might just find myself wondering if that guitar of yours is finally playing some happier chords.

The grief will leave but, that age old adage rings true - grief lives with you, but sometimes it gives you reprieve by simply stepping into the other room.

In that reprieve, the truth hits hard like lightning cracking through a tree, that I’m finally realising I am only mourning the romanticised idea I made us out to be.

I’ll be the bride in all black - t.k.o