Malvaly

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    malvaly.etsy.com

    malvaly.etsy.com

    — 1 year ago
    akhmatova:

Rosemary’s Baby, Roman Polanski, 1968

    akhmatova:

    Rosemary’s Baby, Roman Polanski, 1968

    (via zola-stalingrad-deactivated2012)

    — 2 years ago with 36 notes
    jamesdali:

James Dean at Santa Monica College in 1950, 19 years old. 

    jamesdali:

    James Dean at Santa Monica College in 1950, 19 years old. 

    (via bambi-kino)

    — 2 years ago with 1843 notes
    typicalforever:

saturday died in my arms last night. yesterday i had a feeling it would be that day. i just had a feeling. i have never watched something die before. he wouldn’t eat or drink and just wanted to snuggle, and as soon as he stopped breathing, his teeth clenched and his entire body went stiff. i was really confused and am really fucking sad. he had a nice last day, though. after i came home from the darkroom my dad and i gave him a warm bath in the backyard while he nibbled on apples. then i wrapped him up in a little towel burrito and we walked all around the neighborhood and it sounds stupid but i just showed him all these flowers, because i thought maybe he, in his lil rabbit brain, would think they were really pretty or something. i think he did. and i talked to him a lot yesterday, more than usual. told him about when i first met him, told him about a bunch of nice times we’d had together in case he’d forgotten in his old age. i sound retarded being this sentimental about a rabbit but honestly he was one of my best friends. and when someone or something is there almost your whole life, whether it’s a person, or an animal, or even something dumb like a table or a blanket, you feel it when it leaves. i suppose it was time. but it doesn’t make it easier. he has been there almost my whole life. (14 years! he was insane) it’s crazy. fuck. loved that little buddy. so fucking much.

    typicalforever:

    saturday died in my arms last night. yesterday i had a feeling it would be that day. i just had a feeling. i have never watched something die before. he wouldn’t eat or drink and just wanted to snuggle, and as soon as he stopped breathing, his teeth clenched and his entire body went stiff. i was really confused and am really fucking sad. he had a nice last day, though. after i came home from the darkroom my dad and i gave him a warm bath in the backyard while he nibbled on apples. then i wrapped him up in a little towel burrito and we walked all around the neighborhood and it sounds stupid but i just showed him all these flowers, because i thought maybe he, in his lil rabbit brain, would think they were really pretty or something. i think he did. and i talked to him a lot yesterday, more than usual. told him about when i first met him, told him about a bunch of nice times we’d had together in case he’d forgotten in his old age. i sound retarded being this sentimental about a rabbit but honestly he was one of my best friends. and when someone or something is there almost your whole life, whether it’s a person, or an animal, or even something dumb like a table or a blanket, you feel it when it leaves. i suppose it was time. but it doesn’t make it easier. he has been there almost my whole life. (14 years! he was insane) it’s crazy. fuck. loved that little buddy. so fucking much.

    (via dorothea)

    — 2 years ago with 47237 notes
    "At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air."

    Vladimir Nabokov, Pnin

    (via postcardsfromkafka)

    (Source: leopoldgursky, via zola-stalingrad-deactivated2012)

    — 2 years ago with 184 notes