Day 38: I like playing with my new calligraphy pen.

hooobs:

yearslater:

(via profan u. morphium)

Day 32: Millions bitches.

I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of Imagination..

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

J. Keats

Day 31: I miss my sweet little girl.

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain…

J. Keats

Day 28: Really?

Day 27: Fuck your fashion standards.