Fake love is such a funny concept until you actually experience it. I’m so tired of worrying if this person will run to the next available woman every-time we have an argument. I know true love exists. When will it be my time.

zegalba:

Gab Bois: Film Collection (2022)

I am somewhere many have been before, why do I keep reminding myself this. What is the universe trying to tell me?

morbid-search:

“Wound from a rupture of a projectile”
Medical illustration by William Schultz, 1863
[Edit: I’m unsure about the author of this work. This is the only credit I found]

theclassicsreader:

“… you will go home and then you will find that home is not home anymore. Then you will really be in trouble. As long as you stay here, you can always think: One day I will go home.”

— James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

thinkingimages:

Gustaf Wernersson Cronquist (Sverige, 1878 – 1967) :: Titel saknas, 1922. Autokrom. | src Moderna Museet

nobrashfestivity:

René Magritte

The Indiscreet Jewels (Les bijoux indiscrets), 1963

Carnegie Museum

arthoesunshine:

arthoesunshine:

i like to pretend i already died and asked god to send me back to earth so i can swim in lakes again and see mountains and get my heart broken and love my friends and cry so hard in the bathroom and go grocery shopping 1,000 more times. and that i promised i would never forget the miracle of being here

— our town, thornton wilder

(via arthoesunshine)

On a hot summers day, in the countryside of Monterrey, I am walking with my family. We are walking to bury my great grandmother, Rosa. Out of my peripheral, I see my father sitting off to the side, out of sight and out of his mind. So scared to show any sign of emotion, on this day I cried for my dad.