Today was a fairytale...
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my-place-of-recovery:

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aestheticbullshit:

INK.

aestheticbullshit:

INK.

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It’s quick and sharp and fatal. There will be no pain, at first, because of the shock. But like any other completely fatal injury, there’s always a 100% mortality rate. No chance of resuscitation or revival.

The weather makes me the most nostalgic. With every change in season, all of my senses are reminded of the exact time from years before. Everything begins to look different, smell fresher, taste cleaner. It’s the same changes every year. All these things make it all seem more hopeful but there has been brief moments where it becomes unbearable. For a few minutes I am reminded of what happened during these exact changes. I no longer romanticize the past but these moments of nostalgia hit me out of no where. 

And that is why this beautiful weather has made it a little bit harder. 

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'It's impossible,' said pride.

'It's risky,' said experience.

'It's pointless,' said reason.

‘Give it a try,’ whispered the heart.

—author unknown (via pureblyss)

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“The artist’s job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.” —Gertrude Stein, Midnight In Paris (via likeyouredimaggio)

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Anna Karina

Anna Karina

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