Approximation Does Not Sound Like What It Means And It Makes Me Angry

I'm once again fighting the urge to fake my death and move to a small city and open a little florist shop or cafe filled with books

idk broskis i think aglamation sounds better than amalgamation even if it’s not a word

i always say i want to go home but i am at home, in my house. but i guess home isnt a place, its a feeling.

“I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.”

— Melissa Cox

I like how the only times I go on tumblr is to recover from books that mentally destroyed me

obsessed with mass market paperbacks. their pleasing rectangular proportions. how they fit badly in a hoodie pocket so you can drag them around everywhere with you like a temporary little buddy. the way they fit in your hand because they're MADE for human hands and not as bookshelf decoration. the way the pages feel when you riffle them gently with your thumb. How pristine and crisp they look when you get them and how creased and folded they look when you're done, even if you try to be nice to them. how that wear is okay, how that's correct actually, because they're made with the philosophy that books aren't meant to be PRETTY, they're meant to be read. that little ripple new ones get on the left side from where you hold them when you're reading, the way the ripple only goes as far as you've read, because u change stories by reading as they are changing you. how you can find thousands of these creased and folded and loved little dudes in every thrift store and used book shop and neighborhood library and you can instantly see the ones that someone carried around in a backpack for weeks or read to pieces or gave up on halfway through because they wear being read like fresh snow wears footprints. I love these poorly made, subpar little rectangles so much. truly the people's books.

absolutely love using the term partner

business partner?

lover?

partner in crime?

good cop bad cop?

all the above

Bitches be like I have so much to do but end up laying on bed listening to wildest dreams (Taylor's version) while creating fake scenarios in my head. I am bitches.

the fact that is impossible for me, in one life, to study classical studies, archaeology, international relations, all the literature in the world, get a languages degree in italian, german, greek, latin, russian and french; learn how to play the violin and also piano, cello, guitar and the flute; learn how to sing, both modern singing and classical singing/opera; is my villain origin story.

this is what it means to be human

Everything, Mary Oliver

The Breathing, Denise Levertov

A Prayer by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski

Like a Small Café, That’s Love by Mahmoud Darwish (translated by Mohammad Shaheen)

Having a Coke with You by Frank O’Hara

Eating Together by Li-Young Lee

The Orange by Wendy Cope

The Quiet Machine, Ada Limón

To Go Mad, Paruyr Sevak

Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shrieks by Christopher Citro

Hammond B3 Organ Cistern, Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Peace XVIII, Khalil Gibran

Your Unripe Love, Paruyr Sevak (from “Anthology of Armenian poetry")

Here and Now by Peter Balakian

Ich finde dich (I find you) by Rainer Maria Rilke

The Thing Is by Ellen Bass

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you. by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

I Want to Write Something So Simply by Mary Oliver

What's Not to Love by Brendan Constantine

Where does such tenderness come from? by Marina Tsvetaeva

You Are Tired (I Think) by E. E. Cummings

Living With the News by W.S.Merwin

What the Living Do by Marie Howe