Stargazer-forever - Stargazer-forever

lol i hate today’s era of absolutely zero nuance takes. a friend didn’t behave exactly as you’d wanted them to? cut them off. a guy didn’t text you back instantly bc he has his own life? he’s just giving you breadcrumbs. doing something makes you uncomfortable? don’t do it anymore. someone isn’t instantly available for you? disinterest. just absolutist statements that often don’t apply to the multilayer situations of everyday life. like. stop. literally just stop it

November, often overshadowed by the charm of October and the magic of December, holds a quiet beauty of her own. Remnants of Autumn linger, while the anticipation of winter’s first snow begins to settle in. I’m looking forward to cozy nights by the fire and the subtle beauty of bare trees against the dusk sky 🤎

Instagram: @melvolkman

when you feel so lonely that when a guy gives you attention (and you already know its nothing serious) you still talk to him . And feel hollow. Talk and feel hollow. Talk and feel hollow.

his sadboy eyes and lack of wanting to save himself has bewitched me body and soul

“My creative writing professor told me to stop writing about love. I asked him why and he said, “Because you have turned it over and over in your hands, felt every angle, every fault, every inch, every bruise. You have ruined it for yourself.” I spent the next 3 weeks writing about science and space. Stars exploding. Getting sucked into a black hole. How much I wished I could sleep inside of that nothingness without being annihilated. What an exploding star would taste like. If it would make our stomachs glow like fireflies, or tingle and shake like pop rocks under our tongue. My creative writing professor told me that those poems weren’t what he was looking for. He tells me to stop writing about outer space. Stop writing about science. Again, I ask him why. Again, he says, “You have ruined it for yourself.” I spend the next three weeks writing about my mother, how we are told we can’t make homes inside of other human beings, but the foreclosure sign on my mother’s empty womb tells me that women who give birth know a different, more painful truth. My creative writing professor tells me I am both talented and hopeless, that everything I write is both visceral and empty, a walking circus with no animals inside but a beautiful trapeze artist with a broken hip selling popcorn in the entrance-way. He tells me to stop writing about my mother. I don’t ask why. I pick up my books and my notepad and I leave his office with my war stories tucked under my tongue like an exploding star, like the taste of the last person I ever loved, like my mother’s baby thermometer, and I do not look back. We are all writing about our mothers, our lovers, the empty space that we will never be able to breathe in. We are all carrying stones in our pockets and tossing them back and forth in our hands, trying to explain the heaviness and we will never stop writing about love, about black holes, about how quiet it must have been inside the chaos of my mother’s belly, inside the chaos of his arms, inside the chaos of the spaces in every poem I have ever written. None of this is ruined. Do not listen to them when they tell you that it is.”

— Caitlyn Siehl, “My Creative Writing Professor Told Me to Stop Writing About Love” (via alonesomes)

The feminine urge to bewitch someone body and soul

Hi we did it

The grandest waterfall in the world is not Venezuela’s Angel Falls, at 3,212 feet [979 m] tall; it’s on the seafloor between Greenland and Iceland, where cold, dense water from the Nordic Seas collides with the lighter, warmer water of the Irminger Sea and plunges over a hidden cataract 11,500 feet [3.5 km] down to the seafloor.

— Laura Trethewey, The Deepest Map

Tony Hoagland, from "Don’t Tell Anyone"