paris, france 🥀
« ainsi va le monde. ce n’est pas am faute »
her beer tasted of sawdust and foam coated her boots; nuts were bland and counter sweaty. but the air was lime fresh and the night neon young and she was free.
myra.
turtle neck sweaters and steaming mugs of coffee and overcast clouds and leaves of red and yellow and orange and glossy doc martens and red lipstick stains on necks and pinkie promises and crunching strolls on new york city sidewalks
the sweet scent of cigarettes and semen on your lips
oscar wilde
dear mr sandman… …
🪦🥀📽
no socks
are allowed in the red-room
no pretty pink flowers
are allowed
at the woods at night
“you’re never more alive than when you’re almost dead”
tim o’brien
and he sat at the oncologist waiting room as life dimmed outside
there are no exits where you’re going
one of the oldest human needs is having someone to wonder where you are when you don't come home at night - margaret mead
xxii | she/her | psychology & creative writing | desperately searching for meaning in the mundane
33 posts