hispreciouslittlereader

[hispreciouslittlereader]

𝔤𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰

[hispreciouslittlereader]

writers who make playlists before writing anything scare me. how are you setting a mood for something that doesn’t exist yet. are you conjuring it. are you a witch.

[hispreciouslittlereader]

Whatever It is - she has tried It- Awful Father of Love- Is not Ours the chastising- Do not chastise the Dove-

— Emily Dickinson

[hispreciouslittlereader]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖕𝖗𝖆𝖞𝖊𝖗𝖘

[hispreciouslittlereader]

[hispreciouslittlereader]

[hispreciouslittlereader]

ʜᴏᴘᴇ

[hispreciouslittlereader]

books made of magic, fairytales, poems and love

[hispreciouslittlereader]

𝐴 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑝 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒, 𝐴𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑓; 𝐴 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑓 𝑎 𝑑𝑜𝑧𝑒𝑛 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠, 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ. 𝐴 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑘, 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎. 𝑀𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝑊𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑠, 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒.ᐟ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑠, 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑗𝑜𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔; 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑤 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑔. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑧𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑒; 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐸𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑔, 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛��𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦.

—Summer Shower, Emily Dickinson

[hispreciouslittlereader]

𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖞

[hispreciouslittlereader]

A throe upon the features- A hurry in the breath - An ecstasy of parting Denominated "Death" - — Emily Dickinson

[hispreciouslittlereader]

[hispreciouslittlereader]

"I`ve lived to bury my desires…", Alexander Pushkin (translated by Maurice Baring)

[hispreciouslittlereader]

That's something you don't understand, is that I always win. No matter what.

[hispreciouslittlereader]

One French croissant, please 🥐

[hispreciouslittlereader]

I don't quite belong here, in this modern times.

My soul belongs to a time of paint brush written letters, fabric-like scripture books, and peony paintings.

My soul belongs to that wooden house in the midst of the bamboo forest near the little stream of water with the handmade swing hanging from the plum tree branches.

My soul belongs to candle lit midnight snacks stolen from the kitchen in secrecy, and moonlit wine drinking in the rooftop of a house that I don't belong.

My soul belongs to the far away melancholy sound of the flute and zither during a lonely summer night, alongside the crickets and the soft breeze that sings as it flows through the leaves.

My soul belongs to that far away time that I've never experienced before, but for some reason calls to me like the warmth of a home I've never had.

If only...

[hispreciouslittlereader]

It's always coffee time ☕