Latest Posts by victorlima1 - Page 3

I haven't visited a lot of places in my life, but I have walked almost every street in this world. You don't always need to go somewhere to be somewhere. Books can take you even beyond the horizons. That's why, read. Read until you are a space as vast as the sky, and every idea, every notion, every opinion, is just another star in your sky. Read until you find out the key to liberation from every form of prison that you will encounter in this lifetime.

Sabina Yesmin

avril lavigne photographed by danielle levitt, 2002 🤘🏼🖤

“Quando me perguntarem do que eu mais gostei, vou dizer que foi de você.”

— Cidade dos Anjos.

eu não posso ser sua amiga, porque a intensidsde dos meus sentimentos me machucam. Você não é amigo. Você é amor.

Tea Time Emotiku

Monday, 10/24/2022, Grief

Nothing before God / Grief falls on the weary soul / We grow from this, too. © keefderpoet 2022

ultraviolence era !!!

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from the dress i wore at midnight leave it all behind

I love reading.

I love the way it makes me feel. The way I get lost in the pages, in the words that seem to create a new world around me, in the feeling that I stop being myself and finally I'm someone else worth living. Because books for me it's a way to feel. Yo actually feel. Deeply, without being afraid, marking my very soul to the point the are part of me in a way, the shaped and changed my existence, bringing me into new families and friends and loved ones. Because no matter the end the feeling of being loved is there.

For me reading a book is a holy experience.

When I first hold the book in my hands I want to just sit there and stare a few seconds felling the way my heart beats faster and I can't stop smiling and the anticipation is eating me alive. Just sit there and smell the pages, the way the ink smell, the contrast of the black letter on the white paper.

The I open it and it's like a whole new world. I'm no longer in my existence, but I'm living a different life, a few of them. I have loved ones and I have enemies and I fight for what I believe it's right or causing destruction in my path because I had enough, I'm both the villain and the hero, I'm the good and the bad, I'm more than I'll ever be as myself. I feel the pain, I feel the joy, I laugh at the jokes and the sarcastic comments, I die of embarrassment, I crie and I smile, and I fall in love I judge everyone around me and I can't stop until I know the end.

And then I'm back. Back at my very existence I hate, but how can you hate something when each part of it belongs to something you love so much? When I finish reading is like a subdrop. It's like the world is crashing down on me. It's like a reminder that none of it was real, but yet for me it was. The pain and the joy it was real. It make me feel.

I love reading. It never disappoints me. It keeps my soul company. In a way a human never did, because they never tried. Reading hurts me and puts me back together. It's heals a hurting soul and protects a loved one.

I really love reading. Even when no one else understands it. I do. It's mine. It's make me want to live, to explore, to love, to be.

I can't let go of people, I can't move on. I attach myself so strongly to the people who come into my life that the thought of them leaving horrifies me. I plant roots so profoundly that every time someone pulls out theirs', it creates a deep chasm in my heart, leaving it hollow inside. I wish they could stay with me forever but they leave, abandoning me with a deserted heart.

Blackstairs

saw this trend on twitter and I HAD to join ✨

Do I really need to have a job for a living??? Is it not enough to live for saying hi to the moon, for scheming through libraries for hours just to feel warm, for sighing happily at that first sip of coffee on a misty afternoon, for smiling at every dog you pass by, for looking at the stars and feeling infinite, for peeling oranges for your lover, for walking through strawberry fields before dawn, for watching pride and prejudice for the 150th time and still being amazed, for writing a shitty poetry the first time you fell in love????

I want to be human

I want to be unashamedly myself. I want to be messy. With large sweaters and a mug of tea. Headphones playing a true crime podcast. Pen ink staining my finger tips and journal in hand. Moth-man stickers on my water bottle. With grass stains on my pants and flowers in my hair.

folklore songs wallpapers

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞/𝐮𝐬𝐞.

I'll change every version of myself to fit in. I've been having a hard time adjusting. Had the shiniest wheels now they're rusting. My cheeks are growing tired from growing red and faking smiles. Are we only biding time until I lose your affection? Ive got a hundren thrown out speeches i almost said to you. I have a lot of regrets about that. I'm a mirrorball. They see right through me. I cut off my nose just to spite my face. I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush. Will you still want me when I'm nothing new? You are so much older and wiser. Lord what will become of me when I've lost my novelty? You tolerate me. I sit and watch you.

taylor swift lockscreens

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It hurts when you know what it feels like to love, but don't know what it feels like to be loved.

ⓘ This user is dangerously close to dropping everything at hand and running into the woods.

illicit affairs and clandestine meetings

Obsessed with the idea of sacrifice in a book being a selfish act rather than a selfless one. Their lover screaming at them: “How dare you leave me in this barren world? How dare you take away my choice to die for you and leave me with this grief?”. They are dead, and their lover is left - a gaping wound - bleeding into the ground. Do they love them so much that they would die for them, or do they love them so much that they forced the other to live without them? Sacrifice as a bitter act. Sacrifice as something wildly violent; something tormentingly cruel — but always, always built on love. Perhaps, they are both martyrs in the end.

“𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵, 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴?”

-𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘉𝘶𝘬𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘬𝘪

Your comfort movie is “dead poets society”, you’re in love with the smell of old books, poetry and classical music. You’re an introvert and like to journal and read in old libraries. 

Click here to go to the playlist (inspired by dead poets society)

He’s the the love my life ( a fictional character) she’s practically me (words on paper) they’d burn the world for me( someone pay for my therapy) they have my entire heart ,body and soul ( 300 pages worth of content)

Do you guys cleanse your face once or twice a day?

I read books when I needed a break from reality and I’m not sure when these breaks slowly become the beginning of my obsession with the concept of escapism. The mere fact that I’d rather live a thousand different lives and meet a thousand different people and live through a thousand different scenarios- to feel the pain and grief and anger and love of fictional characters simply because I can’t handle the idea that I too ,am supposed to face these feelings in the mundane world I live in . It’s suffocating. It’s something I can’t comprehend. I’m never fully present- half my mind and all my heart lay grotesquely in between the pages of my books

Personally I do it once

“I have this strange feeling that I'm not myself anymore. It's hard to put into words, but I guess it's like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.”

-Haruki Murakami

It’s weird .physically I’m in my teens but mentally- spiritually if you will, I feel so old. So so old. As though I’ve lived a thousand lives and experienced a thousand scenarios each leaving me exhausted by the end . I feel the weight of all those lives sometimes; When I’m alone in my room . Gaze switching between each wall and then finally , meeting my ceiling-Where my mind explodes with thoughts while simultaneously remaining eerily barren.quite.empty.

"Dark academic?" More like "someone please help me holy shit I can't continue living like this and the only thing keeping me from falling off my rocker is literature."

Twilight 🖤

What perfume would fit this aesthetic?

i don't think there's anything more human than annotating a book. you have a physical copy of thousands upon thousands of words- words that are meaningless, unless put together in the perfect way- and within those meaningless words, you find the meaning. you find what you're meant to find, and you make note of it. you make note of it so, when you come back, you're filled with that emotion. that lovely feeling, that heartbreak, that pain and sadness and anger and laughter and suddenly it isn't just a physical copy of thousands upon thousands of words. it's more like home.

and don't get me started on how it feels to see other people's annotations. seeing the thoughts and feelings of other people, splayed right there on the page; it's a window, isn't it? it's a way to see what they're processing. what sticks out to them, what makes them feel, what makes them tick. is there anything more human than that, seeing a person's heart and soul with your own eyes, among a physical copy of thousands upon thousands of words? they take in these words and, in return, give the physical copy something of themselves. and i think that's absolutely breathtaking.