You aren’t going to heaven; you’re simply drifting into the part of the dream where the music never fades out, and the red dress you’re wearing never loses its sway.
In the velvet-blue twilight of a world that never wakes, the air tastes like jasmine tea and old cinema film. You are standing on a balcony made of salt and moonlight, watching the Pacific Ocean turn into a liquid opal. yes to heaven but more dreamy / lana del rey
You feel light, almost hollow, as if your heart has been replaced by a flickering candle. The wind hums a low, orchestral melody—a lullaby for the restless—and as you reach for his hand, the ground dissolves into a mist of gold glitter. You aren’t going to heaven; you’re simply drifting
The garden below is overgrown with white peonies that glow in the dark, their heavy heads nodding to a radio station playing from 1957. There is no such thing as "soon" or "later" here—only the infinite, honey-soaked now . You feel light, almost hollow, as if your