The First Day We Met, I Drew A Fish And An Eye On His Whiteboard. The Second Time We Met, He Told Me

my favourite thing ever is looking at notebooks of people who are long gone. it's just, something about seeing their handwriting, seeing a physical and intimate proof that they too existed and had ideas and thoughts and had so much to say and worry about, makes me feel like I am not wasting my time. and if they could go through it and live a life, I can too. to see their minds at work, story ideas, letters, poems, all in their handwriting... head in hands

I cannot leave her side when she’s near, I want to hold her, drink in her scent and study the movements of her body and face, her actions have become a new language of its own that I hope to become fluent in

i hate people knowing my business. i never tell my family anything but i will tell all my mutuals

“People, the people we really love, where did they come from? What did we do to deserve them?”

— Mary Ruefle, Madness, Rack, and Honey: Collected Lectures (via mythologyofblue)

—H.G. Wells, The Time Machine

the holy trinity of the pieces with intimacy that make me feel more alive -

salman toor / holly warburton

friends to lovers never had a bad track. “scared i’ll ruin what we have” SLAPS. “friendship cuddles while secretly dying inside” BANGER. “teasing each other and holding eye contact for a little too long” KILLS ME. and don’t even get me STARTED on “screaming i love you in the middle of a heated argument.”

I'd like to go pottery painting with a cute girl and get paint all over our hands while making cute mugs for each other with cute messages painted on the bottom.

i think there will always be a part of you in whatever art i create. your essence will be in every poem i scribble on the last few pages of my notebook, on every page i type out on a word document and with every few strokes of paint that i line onto a canvas.

i will carry you with me forever, immortalising you in artwork, because isn't that what love really is? art.

god the loneliness of young adulthood is so real