Why is this me?
tweed jackets, corduroy pants, brown trousers, oxford shoes, white button ups, brown leather, heavy sweaters, coffee rings, ripped out pages, thick belts, wire rimmed glasses, dusty books, quiet spaces, low lighting, dark wood, the picture of dorian gray, thick paper, expensive pens, figering brushing while reaching for the same book, long eye contact, small classes, close relationships with teachers, being an enigma, disappearing without explanation, wilting flowers, long coats, thrist for knowledge, thick volumes of ancient words, reading poetry aloud, old watches, golden jewelry, classical music, red wine, black coffee, music played on the piano, close knit groups of friends, a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.
Hot espresso with a small slice of lemon peel and a hint of anisette liqueur, warm flaky buttery croissant, small batch of tart raspberries, dark chocolate bar with sprinkles of hazelnut, and amethyst coloured figs straight off the tree.
I’ve been collecting the quotes from celestial tea
Yorick...bae
Is there anything better than reading a book and having a cuppa?
“Writers aren’t exactly people...they are a bunch of people trying to be one person” -F. Scott Fitzgerald
...I am writers. Thank you Scott, for giving an explanation for my dilemma.
tchaikowsky donating his skull to the royal shakespeare company in the hopes of becoming yorick is the most dramatic ass dark academia shit ever and you can’t convince me otherwise
Ah I love this
Hamlet’s Vision by Pedro Américo (1893)
Decisions decisions...
*me making my seventh tea / coffee of the day* maybe this little beverage will motivate me to finish my work
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