✧･ﾟ: * Just A Girl And Her Favorite Things * :･ﾟ✧ ᥫ᭡ 𖤐 ꕤ

naps aren't enough, i need to sleep for eternity

Memories of another life, a life before loss, a life turned to memory long before death

-Memory

What is it with the October air,

reminds me of all the things bright and fair,

days are strange, sun, rain and mist,

I'm back to those houses not made of cement and bricks,

picking lemons, making wells of mud and houses of wet sand,

where the morning air was warm, burning feet, dunes and desert land,

making toys of clay, dolls of rugs, money of leaves, boats of paper,

tumbling down the sand dunes, running in the storms of sand filled air,

Limestone walls, a room just for water, an old well, pots of clay,

where birds and i shared drinks of cold water on a warm sunny day,

I do not have clothes stung with tiny starry thorns anymore,

the days full of wonder, hair full of sand, swings on tree branches are gone,

years are lost and I have wandered far from nest, memory turning to stone,

i do not sleep under the stars anymore, perhaps I've lost the idea of home.

- Prity

11-11-24

Fernando Pessoa // Anne Sexton

Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma

be busy. busy not checking messages. busy reading those books you never started or finished. busy having a good night of sleep. busy taking care of yourself and your skin. busy moving your body. busy helping your community. busy reflecting on your life and what you can improve. busy doing things aside from the capitalistic viewpoint of “productivity.” busy slowing down.

The mystery of human existence lies not in staying alive but finding something to stay alive for

Fyodor Dostoevsky

@rbhvleo // roberto ferri // mothering by ainslie hogarth // rainer maria rilke // ? // planet of love by richard siken // a self portrait in letters by anne sexton // indian summer by ron hicks

Arthur Rimbaud (b. 20 October 1854)

Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma