Julianunderwood - Perdidit In Ignota Somnium

Does anyone else love bad weather? Like the kind that’s loud and dark and draws attention to its self like pounding rain drops and thunder and lightning that seems just so close. And you can sit near a window and it’s dark outside and maybe you’ve got a candle lit or a lamp and it’s so warm inside and you’re wearing you’re favourite sweater and watching a good show or reading a good book and it’s beautiful outside the rain and the clouds and the sound of it all and you’re just so content and cosy and happy

Anaïs Nin, The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1920–1923

Had a professor who does not know me walk by and say ‘Ah yes. I can see it in your eyes. The fear’ today and fuck if I wasn’t terrified before I sure am now

parkerperhaps​:

Parker has noticed him for awhile now. Granted, they make it a point to note who’s around them generally because that’s always a good thing but they’d noticed him looking, off to the side. They didn’t mean to leave him hanging or anything of that sort, but maybe they were sort of hoping he’d eventually come to them like they figured he wanted to. They were beginning to get anxious too, wondering if they should just come up to him themselves, but that was quelled when they hear him.

“Yeah, something like that,” they replied, offering him a smile, “You could also say I missed the boat with people my age, but that makes me like I’m in my thirties.” They instinctively relax their shoulders so as to seem chilled out, just so it’d be easier for him to feel at ease. “You’re in the LGBTQIA+ Alliance with me right? I’m Parker.” Instead of sticking their hand out for a shake, they waved their hand.

Thirties? He laughs slightly. Yeah no, they aren’t that much older than him. He wouldn’t have pegged them any older than mid twenties. 

          ❝I considered taking some time off, honestly, but I didn’t want to lose academic momentum, you know?❞

Jules is almost relieved when they don’t extend their hand for a handshake, clasping his own hands behind his back. He’s never liked handshakes because touching a stranger just... bothers him.

Oh but a good strong handshake is the proper way for a man to greet someone he’s just met. Get over it Julie, it’s just for a few seconds.

She’s. Not. Here. He doesn’t need to sweat her arbitrary rules or the way she would try to shame him for not measuring up.

          ❝I’m, uh, I’m Julian.❞ He stammers out, rocking on the balls of his feet. ❝I usually go by Jules though.❞

( Not true not true )- He always wanted to go by Jules, but Julian was more appropriate. And... he didn’t pick it. His mother did, based on his dead name. And it’s... fine, but he much prefers the nickname he chose.

He can be whatever he wants here. Within limits, anyway. His social life isn’t going to get back to his mother at least. He can go by whatever he wants and just be... awkward without worrying about her reaction.

          ❝And, y-yeah. Sure am.❞ He exhales hard. ❝That’s, uh, kinda why I... wanted to talk? Sorry, it’s dumb, I just want to actually you know... know the people I’m in a club with?”

the inherent romanticism of being thought of.

Teatro La Fenice, Venice Italy

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be snippy.

“I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly.”

— A Self-Portrait in Letters, Anne Sexton (via vilicity)