it was not too long ago that I have (somehow, through magic surely) acquired 2500+ followers. I am still completely awestruck as to how many beautiful, unique beings have somehow come to my blog, and discovered even just a little bit of their own aesthetic resonating with my own. four years ago, when I first began blogging on tumblr, I would have never possibly imagined that so many people would come to follow my silly posts.
Because of all of you, I have had the opportunity to become acquainted with so many different people from all around the world, whether I followed them, they followed me, or we were mutually following one another. It is absolutely incredible to see the amount of people I have interacted with just because of my simple, humble blog.
I am beyond grateful for each and every one of my followers, even if you have never even spoken or liked a single one of my posts. I would like for all of you to know how important and adorable you are. Even if this is the last, or only, post of mine you ever see, please please please know that you are so very much loved, even if it’s just a little from me, who most likely doesn’t even know your name or story. Thank you for taking your time to eclipse my life… by even just a bit.
/collapses into a heap and cries for 546 years/
without further ado; here is my collection of forever favorites (in alphabetical order) ♥
She’s a sunflower. I have been watching her for sometime now but that’s what she is. Light beams have to be etched into her rib cage and her moon set eyes. She isn't elegant, just a little broken... She is a sunflower. I am afraid she is wilting away.
She’s a sunflower. I have been watching her for sometime now but that’s what she is. Light beams have to be etched into her rib cage and her moon set eyes. She isn’t elegant, just a little broken. She’s sick. It’s undiagnosed but you can tell from the faded lavender and pale bones. She keeps herself busy. She must keep busy. If she stops, she may disappear. She’s afraid. I am unsure why. She keeps to herself and watches people. She knows they watch her too. She doesn’t stop them. She’s cold. But there is not much she can do about it. She likes sweatpants and ballet. She twirls around the living room. She leaves the windows open. It does not matter who sees. She is free. She sings the sun awake. He bends to her sound; he feeds her. Her starry eyes are all too familiar with the horizon. She smiles with her teeth and that is all. The white reflects an emotion. Sometime she laughs. Only sometimes. She is a sunflower. I am afraid she is wilting away.
This is a poem I wrote in high school, and later became the inspiration for my first completed manuscript.
cuddling is probably one of the most passionate forms of love there is because you just feel so safe and close to the person and it feels like all your worries go away and it’s one of the greatest feelings in the world
“My name is not Annie. It’s Quvenzhané.”—Quvenzhané Wallis (then age 9) correcting an AP Reporter who said she was “just going to call her Annie” instead of learning how to pronounce her name. Never forget.