We Need To Change The Part Of The History Where Yt Ppl Are Given Credit For “discovering” Things

losing a friend (for the one that got away) 1/3

part 2 , part 3

@frenchtoastlesbian //personalmessage.blogspot.com // @linguinereid // trista mateer // unknown // richard siken // ocean vuong “on earth we’re briefly gorgeous”// unknown // unknown

[ID:

A tumblr post by user frenchtoastlesbian, reading: losing people is so interesting because like. no i don’t want to speak to you ever again. yes i think about you on your birthday.

“The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”

A drawing of a book, with the words ‘it takes two to be a stranger’ on the cover.

A tumblr post by user linguinereid, reading: also today is my old best friends birthday (we just grew apart) and it’s so weird how you can go from talking every day to just sending a little “happy birthday! i hope this year treats you well!” to them. like i know everything about you, but also nothing.

I’d rather think of this / as a confession: / you are still the first person / I want to share new things with. 

Graffiti on a wall, reading: “If we ever stop talking.. Send me a song”

Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them. - Richard Siken, Editor’s page: the long and the short (...)

A tumblr post from memoryslandscape, reading: “I miss you more than I remember you.” - Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous (Penguin, 2019).

A handwritten note, reading: I always see stuff and think “oh you’d like this” / I hope that you see stuff and think that I would like them, too.

Maybe someday / we will be two /people meeting / again for the first time.

A tumblr post by coffeeacademia, reading: i find it so beautiful how we all read the same poetry and miss different people

A tumblr post by user frenchtoastlesbian, reading: losing people is so interesting because like. no i don’t want to speak to you ever again. yes i think about you on your birthday. / end of ID]

… they were mean to me. they were mean to you?

Sam using the 1 inch height difference between them to always get Bucky to reach things for him

Imagine Sam lazily reaching for something on the top shelf, barely stretching and making a deal of not being able to reach things, because he knows Bucky “left his understanding of personal space in the 40′s” Barnes will come up close behind him and reach over him to grab it

Bucky works out what Sam’s doing pretty quickly but he acts clueless because any excuse to do things for Sam

(insp by this post)

my favorite part abt this generation is no one is ironing their clothes anymore fjckfncn fuck that! if the wrinkles wanna be there let them

Anyone want to do a weird little biology puzzle? These three pairs of animal species all have something in common; can you guess the common theme between all of them? This might be a tricky one but try to identify each specific species and you’ll get it!

If u want to write a story about a character that's just you but hotter with a dark twisted backstory and magical powers and a pet falcon or something, I think u should just go ahead and do that. Who's gonna stop you? The government?? Fuck the police.

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.”

The straights are mad about the amount of gayness in The Sandman

talking to normal people is so hard bc it’s like

Me: omg I love that marvel character so much! 

Normal Person: oh so you like the mcu?

Me: no. fuck marvel. I hate them with a burning passion

Normal Person: ?????? but isn’t that a marvel character? 

Silver Fox in Gubin, Poland

Photo by Iza Łysoń