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Vespertine Dreams.

The sempiternal comes for us all, loves us as one.

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Gloam by Elle Moss.

Winter Lights by Elle Moss.

Cosmic Matter by Alesaenzart.


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Anonymous Asked:
You have a very nice page. I thought it necessary you know that, and I do hope the street harassment plagues you no longer.

My answer:

It lessened—because I barely leave the house anymore.

But other than that, thank you. Who are you? I’ll keep any subsequent asks from you private if you wish.

My sense of self is diminishing.

I don’t know who or what I am anymore.

All that resonates within me is violation, sadness and anxiety.

I want to dream again.


Ils ont disparu 

Sometimes she was able to hear Them. Hear Their dying pleas ringing in her ears, clinging desperately to the lifeline slipping from Their fingertips. Even then, the waves of her memory carried Their souls far away from her mind, and even further from her steady heartbeat.


untitled by Hideaki Hamada on Flickr.



Paging my lover: I need your fingernails to break my skin again.

I need to go somewhere.



To invest in a life that neither wants nor never will want you—how foolishly sad.

How sad, how sad.

I love the way he’s actualized me;

More than existence,

More than acknowledgement,

It is the settling feeling of being real.