your local nymph

deleting my dating apps because i want to meet someone the old fashioned way (behind the mall)

sodium chloride air, and the iron oxide on your door…

august is golden hour. warm and surreal--time suspended in an aureate glow. august is that pause at the top of a rollercoaster, breeze caressing your face, legs hanging forgotten, heart hovering impartial above a world far-removed. soul strapped in tightly, body following along like a balloon on a string. everything is a dream, but the ground feels impossibly solid as soon as you touch down.

august is like: my heart is breaking in real-time, i can't recognize my own hands, but the world is drenched in honey and i've forgotten how to stay hurt for too long

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

humsafar? no girl hum suffer because we are not thriving

humsafar? no girl hum suffer because we are not thriving

<3

Several weeks ago, I was reading a post someone made online about how they were never much of a picture-taker until they lost a loved one, and how now they wish they had more photos of them to look back on.

A few days after reading that post, my cat died.

She was old, but it's still raw. But I have over 400 pictures of her, over 50 videos, probably even more that are lost somewhere in the depths of cloud storage and old hard drives that I can dig up one day. I was never much of a picture-taker either when I was younger, but somewhere along the line I guess I realized their value and started snapping away. Any time I saw her doing something funny, or looking cute, or even just existing, I took out my phone and got some pictures. And now I have over seven years of memories saved up, stored away, there to comfort me any time my grief becomes too much to handle. I'm using these photos to construct a photo book of all the best memories I have of her, so that I'll never forget her no matter what.

Take photos, guys. Even if they're crappy amateurish photos, take them. Your photos are your memories, free from the errors that naturally accumulate in your brain over time. Take them, so that in the moment you can have fun, and in the long run you can reminisce. You won't regret taking those photos, but you will regret not taking them. You'll thank your past self.

me when

Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra