not even going to lie. i’m totally in love with lara croft.
The sky does some seriously beautiful things sometimes.
I live for pretty skies.
swan lake , illustrated by trina schart hyman
i got this book when i was little, i am pretty sure it’s responsible for some of my weird expectations of “true love”
older relative: so, do you have a boyfriend yet?
me: *vanishes mysteriously into the light of the morning sun, humming an ancient song only the most fragrant flowers can remember*
The older I get, the more and more I see events in my life for what they were: threatening, oppressive, abusive. The advantage of hindsight I suppose. But you know what is truly sick? That in seeing realising this, I feel I am to blame for not realising it at the time. It is my fault for letting these thing wash over me in hazy, half-remembered mess of horror. It was my fault for being shocked. It was my fault for being scared. If only I could have not felt anything and responded reasonably, if only I could have stamped out my emotions and thought straight for five seconds, I might have prevented it. Like my response was not a perfectly rational response to what I went through. That I feel culpable for his actions, and that to this day I wonder what I could have done to protect myself where I shouldn’t have had to… So much is wrong with this picture.