the sheer level of galaxy brain jane austen was on when she wrote “if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more”

____jamon on ig

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray // Virginia Woolf, Orlando

existing in a deep, lonely melancholy. no appetite, no desires, nothing.

I want soft things. Soft things that are the same time dark. Like victorian dark, not morbid dark. I want to recieve mail. I want to wear soft socks. I want to live and work in a library all day. I want to know a library like the back of my hand. I want to be left alone but I also want to be noticed. I want to cram books in a bookshelf that cannot take more. Then because the bookshelf is full, I want to line books by the bed. Then the study table. Then the window. I want to walk in the mornings across mossy dewy cemeteries. I want my bag to be heavy with books. And a diary with messy writing. I want to press leaves between pages and find them years later. I want to wear flannel. And soft sweaters. I want to visit art galleries, museums. Antique stores. I want to fill my apartment with wooden furniture. I want plants. I want tea in the evening in my balcony as the sun sets and the city turns pink. I want to stand in the sun, taking in the morning light.

Autumn resides within me, filling her lungs with the air that brews a spell of otherworldliness that can only be seen in the bleeding trees and crunch of fallen leaves.

ig: rosenaufsuden

Literature student moodboard

Me

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the roundest loaf

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I wanna fucking die  I don’t really wanna die, I just need someone to be there and tell me what to do in life because I fucked up and I don’t know how to fix it myself

I’m just trying to add good people to my life. slowly and carefully

womanhood and having a voyeuristic relationship with your own pain

“am i suffering beautifully?” “is my agony lovable?”