enchantinghearts:

(by coolhandluke)

(Source: northernarrow)

cerceos:

Beatriz S.

Various

blog | photo | Facebook

chrisbrinleejr:

It’s official, I’m in love with the Cascades.

Mt. Baker State Park, North Cascades, Washington.

royalus:

Gray Day in Zurich

(Source: erinkkavanagh)

slowartday:

Allison Schulnik

nubbsgalore:

mt. fuji by yuga kurita 

i-stole-the-clouds:

Art detail 005: Vincent Van Gogh - Irises

dalyproof:

Sure, kittens are cute and all..but what about the love and wisdom of old dogs?

antiqueart:

Vincent  van Gogh - From ‘Almond Blossoms’ Series (1888-1890)

Landscapes, 2014 | by Polly Balitro

(Source: foxmouth)

A stunning high res photo of Saturn’s Moon Enceladus

(Source: freakishlyawesomestuff)

I’m homesick and I’m clinging to a shadow of you in the dark creases of my mind, your memory is spread on my mind like flour paste on paper mâche but it’s not thick enough; it’s sliding around under a hospital gown and throbbing in an open chest under bright white lights in a pale blue room.

And it’s not enough, not enough.

It hasn’t been long and already my hands are searching blindly for his next to mine. He says my hands are soft and wishes his were softer, but I want to memorize each callus and scar and know each of their stories; every triumph and fall, as well as I know my own. I almost wish I would have held him closer and whispered not to go. Maybe my heart is truly rotten, maybe I’ll only settle for more.

You can whisper, whisper all you want, but sometimes you find that you’re the one with the keys in your hand.

I get a lump in my throat when I’m driving down dusty highways and the sunlight is strong and I’m squinting against it and wishing I was in the passenger seat watching the shadows cross his face and stick to his smile like it lives there. I dwell on those moments a lot, too much, not enough, everything all tossed together in a bowl, drizzled with oil and vinegar of sweet words and longing.

It’s sweet but it’s violent and sits on the tip of my tongue.

Call it selfish but I want to keep you to myself, you see. I want our quiet moments to stay etched along the inside of my elbow, captured behind half-closed eyelids and your fingers on my skin where other hands have been, but not like you. I meet a half a dozen people most every day, meet charming boys with wide white smiles who say yes ma’am to their mama’s but none of them compare to you.

Oh sweetheart I’m homesick and I haven’t left yet; they always warned me not to make people into homes, but I feel my heart stretching across our country wide. I’m tossing like waves on a shoreline, crashing and falling and I come back for more, hoping this time we’ll stick, it’s better when there’s no space between us. Wishing I could have kissed you plus wishing I would have held you longer, wishing I was with you now. I guess that’s the way it goes.

And I keep thinking to myself and swearing under my breath, a prayer, a request, an oath “God, I hope we’re never famous - they’d make movies about us.”

—I Hope We’re Never Famous - © Johanna Grace 9/13/14 (via an-overcomer)
XM