“Cover Me With Soft Earth.. Jasmine, Lilies And Myrtle; And When They Grow Above Me.. They Will Breathe

“Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs, oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.”

— Pablo Neruda, from “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair” published c. 1924

musings on kitchens (as sanctuaries of love) [part 1]

Joy Harjo (Perhaps the World Ends Here), tumblr user @floatingstirnerhead, Alai Ganuza, Banana Yoshimoto (Kitchen), Jenny Slate (Little Weirds)

˗ˏˋ☕ˎˊ˗  

indigo,

digital

Which one is your favourite? @thoughtstherapy

Despite [her] demented laugh, she may actually be an uncommonly sad girl. Doesn’t a person who laughs a lot also cry a lot?

Dazai Osamu, Pandora’s Box

My brother cracked my rib one morning and gave me half of his orange in the evening.

I remember being younger and sometimes wishing to be a single child, to have all the attention and gifts and time but when he was away from home for the first time, I remember crying and stroking his side of the sofa as if blurting out my first wish- for him to be home, without thinking twice, without a shadow of doubt. Even the genie cried. Growing up with a sibling is like being the only people on a stranded boat, constantly figuring out how you can live with them and questioning how you could ever live without them.

One evening, in a fit of anger, I told him how I never wanted him to be my brother and he yelled that he didn't ask for it either. The air smelled like kerosene and my chest was filled with arsenic. I was raging and threw his favorite toy aeroplane down the window, 7 stories of guilt and shame. He cried all night and I wanted to cut off my right hand, the hand that hurt my baby brother. I didn't know if he was ever going to forgive me or even talk to me. The next morning at breakfast, he didn't look at me or say a word, I felt like my chest was about to explode and guilt clouded my vision. But then, I felt a hand quietly holding half of an orange my way.

The only people on a stranded boat. How do you live with them? How could you ever live without them?

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

Edit: I added a visualizer for this on my YouTube channel. Check it out here

My flesh, my home 🦪 🫧

flowery tea ♡