☾ she who hears ☽

earth tones, birthstones, and erogenous zones




the things I would do for one night, nahh, a sex/love life with Jason Momoa. sorry I’m not sorry at all. 

even though I may not always consciously know or show this, somewhere hidden behind the walls I’ve put up, there is a thin sliver of understanding that I deserve to be loved so so deeply, and completely…to a point of fault on the other’s behalf (and likely on mine as well).

one day I might let myself be loved like that.

I know you woke up thinking about me. I can always feel it, those exact moments when I’m on your mind. It’s usually during the full moon, as the sun is rising, or when you’re floating on the ocean looking for me in the dark blue. You have lodged yourself somewhere deep beneath my skin. My soul can feel it. This should be such a beautiful thing, but we won’t let go. I wonder (too often) when this thing between us will be explored. You know I hate you, but I don’t think you know it’s because I don’t hate you at all. I guess we gotta listen to the sage advice we once shared with our friend, in unison, timing is everything. That sexy….nah, sensual beat of Flashback by Fat Freddy’s Drop, “because there’s something that I can’t explain, ‘bout this,” plays in my head when I think about you. I feel that you can feel it too.

"So I sit before flowers hoping they will train me in the art of opening up." - Shane Koyzcan
you know the way the sun plays with the sea? that’s what I want you to do with me
the sea is to sand what the sky is to stars

salted caramel = me after the beach

I wish I could do whatever I liked behind the curtain of “madness”. Then: I’d arrange flowers, all day long, I’d paint; pain, love and tenderness, I would laugh as much as I feel like at the stupidity of others, and they would all say: “Poor thing, she’s crazy!” (Above all I would laugh at my own stupidity.) I would build my world which while I lived, would be in agreement with all the worlds. The day, or the hour, or the minute that I lived would be mine and everyone else’s - my madness would not be an escape from “reality”.
Frida Kahlo