D E T A I L S

no one paints portraits of their lover’s decaying soul and moral corruption’s physical manifestation to keep their lover themself youthful anymore 😔 they don’t do it like they used to 😔

When you feel you have lost everything, you still have

books

unexpected kindness in strangers

the rest of the world to travel

languages to learn

animals to take care of

volunteer work to do

the power of a good night’s rest

the changing of seasons

infinite things to learn

billions of people to meet and possibly love

billions of people who might love you back

Needed this today

at Uffizi Gallery

autumn dark academia

finally time for your favorite knitted sweaters and turtlenecks

carving your favorite quotes and book characters into pumpkins

going on evening walks, listening to classical music while looking at all the beautiful trees

finding coffee shops and getting your favorite seasonal beverages

going to a second-hand bookstore, finding  a new cafe and reading your new books right away

sitting under a tree as you read and study, occasionally pulling leaves out of your hair

snuggling up in a cozy armchair, tossing a blanket over your lap, and reading to the light of a pumpkin scented candle

decorating your room and bookshelf with skulls and other assortments

putting your headphones in to listen to podcasts as you rake leaves

staying up all night reading by a window, looking outside occasionally at the streetlamps, wondering if the ghost of oscar wilde is out there somewhere

ink smears on your fingers as you annotate poetry, looking out the window at the colors

opening a window to let the cool autumn air in as you study, a leaf blowing through and landing on your desk

You are just another name I still remember, a song I no longer dare to listen to, a voice I can't forget but I will. You're now a stranger I'd never really wish to know, a road I'll never choose, a bridge I'd always burn, a place I'd never visit. You are just a memory I'd never ever like to cherish. I want myself to get rid of every trace of you. All that you left behind is not my mess to carry, no part of you could be a treasure, it's just trash.

—Trashy memories // Sparkandashes (via tumblr)

For all I can really do is

Stand here

In September’s rain

Savouring...

Soaking it all in

Slipping...

And simply

Holding on to poetry

For dear life

'The Picture of Dorian Gray' by Oscar Wilde (published in 1890)