Ink-stained Fingers, Crumpled Sheets Of Unfinished Poetry, Withered Roses, Lipstick On The Rim Of A Coffee

Im surviving solely off of books, coffee and maladaptive daydreaming

it's always "I love you" and never "cubitum eamus?"

i find it so charming that so many ancient civilisations - if not most of them - believed in gods of some sort. like, the world was so inexplicably incredible that, to them, it could be the work of nothing but the divine.

tehe i made a little uquiz you should take it tehehehe

look all i'm asking for is forehead kisses and academic validation and autumn and museum dates and cold bedsheets and misty mornings and baggy sweaters okay???????

just got nettle stings all over my legs from running through a forest at dusk because i was spooked by an owl that is so manic pixie dream girl of me

"why bother drinking decaf coffee if it defeats the point of drinking coffee-" Do you possess no capacity for whimsy? Do you never rest? Must everything you consume work towards fulfilling a need, serving a higher purpose? Must your pursuit of happiness be marred by the constant desire for practicality, and progress, and utility? Can you not just like the taste of coffee

chaotic academia is learning latin on duolingo

convinced that 96% of my problems would be solved if i had a private library

i miss autumn. i miss short days and long nights. i miss the stars. i miss chunky scarves and knitted beanies and thick sweaters. i miss withered orange leaves underfoot. i miss lukewarm rain. i miss cold winds that smell of nature and death. i miss spending grey days reading classics by candle light. i miss herbal teas and bitter coffee. i miss the sting of ice in my fingers. i miss the harsh softness as the world slowly settles down and gets ready to die.