Over The Garden Wall

Over The Garden Wall
Over The Garden Wall
Over The Garden Wall
Over The Garden Wall

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?

More Posts from Academia-wannabe and Others

3 years ago
Stem Academia Moodboard For @awritersstar
Stem Academia Moodboard For @awritersstar
Stem Academia Moodboard For @awritersstar
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Stem Academia Moodboard For @awritersstar
Stem Academia Moodboard For @awritersstar

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4 years ago
Nature Series 26/∞
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nature series 26/∞

4 years ago
Vincent Van Gogh’s Stream Of Thoughts
Vincent Van Gogh’s Stream Of Thoughts
Vincent Van Gogh’s Stream Of Thoughts
Vincent Van Gogh’s Stream Of Thoughts

Vincent Van Gogh’s stream of thoughts

4 years ago

Things of bittersweet beauty:

empty perfume bottles

dead roses

deserted hallways

abandoned buildings

unsent letters

old photographs

3 years ago
Émile Vernon

Émile Vernon

French, 1872-1919

3 years ago
Thank You So Much For 10,000 Followers!!
Thank You So Much For 10,000 Followers!!

Thank you so much for 10,000 followers!!

3 years ago
The Literature Students
The Literature Students
The Literature Students
The Literature Students
The Literature Students

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

4 years ago

sun showers are so pretty!

Sun Showers Are So Pretty!
Sun Showers Are So Pretty!
Sun Showers Are So Pretty!
Sun Showers Are So Pretty!
4 years ago
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.
When The Memory Returns, There Is No Blood Pump To Support It, Separated By A Fine Line From Reality.

When the memory returns, there is no blood pump to support it, separated by a fine line from reality.

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academia-wannabe - I Don’t Know What I’m Doing
I Don’t Know What I’m Doing

She/they

289 posts

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