Love, V
- by me
- think and feel
- astral
- bloom and grow
- cats
- creativity
- cuteness
- handwritten
- literature
- love
- mandala
- music
- noir
- poetry
- quotes
- sex
- smoking
- spaces
- spirituality
- unicorn
- water
- wings
- women
- irina lazareanu
- devon aoki
- lily cole
- angelina jolie
- drew barrymore
Woman and cat.
Girl and guitar.
Twenty-one years old.
Cultural creative.
This is my voice.
Love,
V
P.S.
Love to hear from you.
Write me.
links
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a print a day
acceso restrito
alonetone
anne: j'adore
astronomy picture of the day
audrey kawasaki found
beautiful and depraved
beautiful pictures
beautiful things
cultural creatives ?
daydream lily
dear ada
déModé
feanne: art, love, life & the senses
from betsy with love
girl meets nyc
laureola
le smoking
leelyth
loveology
mewl
my love for you is a stampede of horses
sex in art
space collective
tatielle
ted ideas worth spreading
the artist's way
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
♥
Hair, sparkles, feathers, magic
tatielle:Dreamcatcher, please catch my dreams (via Chrissie White)
Girl with tattoo or henna covered arms, and a long-beaked bird
Khalil Gibran
Khalil Gibran
La Mélinite: Moulin-Rouge
La Mélinite: Moulin-Rouge
Arthur Symons, 1895
Olivier Metra’s Waltz of Roses
Sheds in a rhythmic shower
The very petals of the flower;
And all is roses,
The rouge of petals in a shower.
Down the long hall the dance returning
Rounds the full circle, rounds
The perfect rose of lights and sounds,
The rose returning
Into the circle of its rounds.
Alone, apart, one dancer watches
Her mirrored, morbid grace;
Before the mirror, face to face,
Alone she watched
her morbid, vague, ambiguous grace.
Before the mirror’s dance of shadows
She dances in a dream,
And she and they together seem
A dance of shadows,
Alike the shadows of a dream.
The orange-rosy lamps are trembling
Between the robes that turn;
In ruddy flowers of flame that burn
The lights are trembling:
The shadows and the dancers turn.
And, enigmatically smiling,
In the mysterious night,
She dances for her own delight,
A shadow smiling
Back to a shadow in the night.









