text post from 16 hours ago

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𝘡𝘩𝘦 𝘀𝘒𝘴𝘡𝘭𝘦 𝘩π˜ͺπ˜₯π˜₯𝘦𝘯 π˜ͺ𝘯 𝘡𝘩𝘦 π˜§π˜°π˜³π˜¦π˜΄π˜΅β€¦


text post from 3 days ago

She lay in the darkness of her white satin bedroom, the mirrors throwing aureoles of false moonlight, the rows of perfume bottles creating false suspended gardens.

Anaïs Nin, from stella; winter of artifice: three novelettes


text post from 1 week ago

[…] is there anything that doesn’t remind me of you? Do you not encompass me all around?

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, from ‘The Sorrows of Young Werther’, tr. David Constantine


photo post from 1 week ago

𝙴𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎̈, 𝚆𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜
[𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍: 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟾𝟺𝟽]