hafsa, nineteen, england. find my other tumblr here.

semi hiatus

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hafsaatique:

I.

Mondays taste like tear gas and vodka to you. You can still taste last night in your mouth, rotten and stale under your tongue and between your unbrushed teeth.

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hafsaatique:

Mother Novak, bent over the edge of the bed in her slip. Her spine claws through the purple silk like the ribs of mountains, austere and lonely. You wonder how many people died trying to cross the plains of her back, how many prisoners she made from her grim heart. Your mother, with her glass eyes and spider fingers, a string of white pearls wrapped round her wrist like a rosary, praying into the cold silence of her bedroom. In the mornings, her room smells of dust and decay, like the insides of a pink lung.

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Q: happy birthday dearest~!!!! and Ramadan Mubarak!!! i love you and hope all is well and good in your heart.

thank you beautiful!! i hope everything is good where you are too ❤️


asked by mangostreets
Q: ohhh no it's a few hours too late now but i couldn't not wish you a happy birthday! (or at least wish you have had one already!) <3

eee thank you sweetie! i had a really great one <3


asked by flickerman
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"   There’s a word in Japanese for being sad in the springtime — a whole word for just being sad — about how pretty the flowers are and how soon they’re going to die.   "
Sarah Ruhl, Melancholy Play
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