driedasphodel

[driedasphodel]

[driedasphodel]

claude monet's lilies. details.

[driedasphodel]

I think about this all the time...

I walk through the places I once called home, and I see pieces of myself everywhere. Every street, every corner holds a memory, yet something always feels missing.

I remember the days spent at nani ghar, the warmth of nani ke haath ki maggi, the way it tasted like love itself. But that ghar hasn’t felt the same since she left. The walls still stand, but the warmth has faded.

It’s the same feeling I get every time I pass by my school. All I can think about is the chaos, the endless laughter, and the stupid things my friends and I did. I still have my farewell shirt, filled with messy handwriting and inside jokes only we would understand. And somehow, even after all this time,

those scribbles feel more real than anything in college ever has.

Maybe that’s the thing about places. They hold memories, but it’s the people who make those memories

feel like home.

[driedasphodel]

during the moment that you're painting, you enter a feeling of oblivion; you forget everything; you forget about the endless internship hunt, you forget about your low mst scores, about that fight with your sibling, about that feeling of emptiness when you think about your future and see... nothing. you forget everything and your subconscious focuses on the colors, the patterns, the textures of the paint; why aren't the colors blending the way they're supposed to? why's your painting not exactly like that of the tutorial you're watching? but then out of some miracle your painting turns out to be better than that of some random youtuber and you realise maybe your life's not perfect now or maybe it'll never be and maybe that's okay; afterall no one's perfect, are they? You realise maybe it'll all work out in the end and your "painting" will turn out to be perfectly imperfect <3

[driedasphodel]

"Eventually, my eyes were opened,

and I really understood nature.

I learned to love at the same time."

~ Claude Monet; Water lilies, 1919

[driedasphodel]

kinda miss being a child and wondering why the moon follows me.

[driedasphodel]

Deathbed

I'm slicing the tomatoes,

while she seasons the pasta.

I remain still on my island of a bench,

because, oh well, the floor is lava.

I'm sitting cross legged on the kitchen counter, while he tries to make the rotis rounder.

My dog is wiggling his tail,

as i run towards him, my hair frail.

A heart shaped leaf looks up at me,

as im about to crunch it with my feet.

I walk down the steep road,

with two bunny ears nodding along.

The dried roses on my bedside table,

became friends with the polaroids

and the coffee letters.

The brown untuned guitar,

awaits patiently for a shooting star.

Bathing in the sun, i look up to a white number; a seven

or maybe the one?

I see them.

All of them.

Some live, some alive.

They say your life flashes before your eyes

for a last time,

before you close them

and you realise maybe

all of it, it was worth it,

in the end.

[driedasphodel]

[driedasphodel]

🪐💌🍁

[driedasphodel]

i make my ramen the way my brother taught me when i was 13. i put my cereal after the milk, the way dad does it. the old bollywood songs i used to hate, are now on the top of my playlists, as mom plays them in the car on roadtrips. my favourite flowers are daisies and sunflowers, because my friends love them.

who am i? im the mosaic of everyone ive ever loved, even for a heartbeat💌

[driedasphodel]

it is in this moment, that i understand the importance of taking pictures, recording videos, capturing moments when we have even a teeny tiny smile in our heart.

it is these moments that will be embedded in our minds forever, when we look back upon them, in the future, lying on a bed that hasn’t been made for so long, in our room that really isn’t ours, in a place that doesn’t quite feel like home, listening to teachers babble on and on without your 2 जिगरी dosts by your side, having food prepared by a stranger's hands, on a call with your family and friends, trying to bridge the gap between the distance that now lies between you.

it is in this moment that you realise, how fleeting everything is, how time slips away like sand between our fingers, and how the simplest joys we once took for granted become treasures of the heart.

[driedasphodel]

this blog is not a well-curated museum. it’s my bedroom & i’m putting things on my shelf & taping things on the wall

[driedasphodel]

for those of us 'non-potterheads'

snape once asks harry, "what would i get if i added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

in the language of flowers, asphodel means regret after death and wormwood stands for bitterness and sorrow. it’s almost like snape is trying to say something he never could outright—that he’s consumed by regret and grief for lily’s death. it’s a quiet, heart-wrenching glimpse into his pain, disguised as a lesson, and shows just how much his life revolves around the memory of her.