Over the Garden Wall
Led by the mist by the milk-light of moon, all that was lost is revealed. Our long bygone burdens, mere echoes of the spring, but where shall we go, and where shall we end? If dreams can’t come true, then why not pretend?
stem academia moodboard for @awritersstar
nature series 26/∞
Vincent Van Gogh’s stream of thoughts
Things of bittersweet beauty:
empty perfume bottles
dead roses
deserted hallways
abandoned buildings
unsent letters
old photographs
Émile Vernon
French, 1872-1919
Thank you so much for 10,000 followers!!
the literature students
nights spent studying in the library, dozens of books piled on the desk before you
lingering in your favorite bookstore
debating with friends about your favorite authors
old books with faded bindings and handwritten notes in the margins
memorizing your favorite passages to recite back to yourself
overfilled bookshelves, volumes stacked on the floor by your bed
scribbling notes to yourself late at night, then trying to decipher them in the morning
beautiful handwriting scrawled across the page
worn out copies of your favorite books
wishing you could resurrect long-dead authors and poets
ribbon bookmarks tucked between pages
quotes by your favorite authors written on your walls
libraries with bookshelves that tower to the ceiling, books as far as the eye can see
carrying a book with you everywhere you go
fancy volumes with gilded edges
deep analysis, dissecting themes and diction and metaphor
leaning forward in your seat during class, eager to share your insights
researching your favorite authors, beginning to understand why they wrote how they did
handwritten copies of poems pinned up by your desk
the ache of finishing a particularly good book, knowing you’ll never read it for the first time again
annotating writing in your favorite pen
a sense of comfort anywhere you’re surrounded by books
sun showers are so pretty!
When the memory returns, there is no blood pump to support it, separated by a fine line from reality.