could you do like a farm life with graham?! it’s kinda weird but i always imagine growing up in a cute cottage with him <3
cotttage-core graham cottage-core graham cotttage-core graham cottage-core graham cotttage-core graham cottage-core graham. i’m practically foaming at the mouth at the idea of this oh my GOD. also i went on holiday to a cottage in the middle of the countryside last year and writing this made me miss it :-(
- one thing, matching wellies! sharing bobble hats, jazzy jumpers, woolen scarves and wearing graham’s big coats to go on morning walks around your fields in the winter; graham loves seeing you wearing his clothes and regularly excessively bundles you up before you two head out, tugging his coat straight on your shoulders with a gentle pat. he keeps your hand alongside his in his pocket as you’re walking, only to keep your hands warm of course, totally not because he’s smitten or anything.
- stargazing at night. the distinct lack of light pollution in your area ensured that the sky was always bright with little white lights. throughout your time there graham had grown pretty knowledgable about different constellations and the specific times of year that meteor showers occurred; you’d usually set up camp outside for those nights. he’d keep you tucked into his side, flask of hot tea prepared for the two of you, one arm pointing to the sky and a soft voice quietly speaking about the names of the patterns you observed. graham would carefully observe your face in the darkness when he was sure you were fully absorbed in watching the sky, he’d always feel his heart swell in his chest. in moments like these, graham wanted nothing more than for you to feel safe against him; “you’re comfy, love, aren’t you?”. if he was very honest with himself, when you’d both see that fateful shooting star and he’d watch your face light up in pure happiness, he wasn’t sure what more he could wish for and would settle for wishing his life would always always stay this sweet.
- hot summer nights with you in some flimsy cotton sundress, barefoot, and you couldn’t help but stand up to sway to whatever music graham had picked for you to listen to whilst eating dinner on your patio. graham couldn’t really keep his hands off you, you looked so pretty with the fading sun painting your skin, a light layer of sweat making you glisten like you weren’t quite real.
- graham painted often in your garden, using a little pochade box you’d decorated with stickers to paint little beautiful pieces of your grounds. if you were lucky, sometimes you’d even notice he was painting you.
- taking film pictures and polaroids of graham laughing, a little daisy in his hair as he lies in the grass. (im going to cry)
- your cottage being decorated in little eccentric trinkets you’d managed to procure from the sweet, small business in your area. a hand-knitted duvet with patches of all different colours, a clock in the shape of a tabby cat, healthy plants stacked on every windowsill.
- graham being insistent on the use of candles as your light source at night, making your cozy living room smell like a mixture of whatever scent graham was particularly infatuated with at the time (he mostly liked fresh linen, though).
- graham reading to you softly at night, curled up on the sofa together, legs tangled under a soft blanket i need to stop now im going feral
Graham: Morning.
Damon, in the studio: It’s close to seven PM.
Graham: As I said, morning.
fragile, lily donaldson by donald christie for i-D
Spring is here again
there is no (happy) medium