My-dearest-giulia - GIULIA

This is what I found when I searched Giulia on Pinterest.

I’m so sorry that I haven’t been able to post lately, but I’ve just been very busy. For the last two weeks, I’ve had a summer course at a *certain British university*, and now I’m in Italy to visit my family and friends (while also taking French classes in the mornings). Between all that and the insane heat in Europe, I’ve been completely exhausted every night. I’ll try to post more, darlings (aka the two people who like my posts)!

dark academia is when you have to read the crustiest pdf known to man

you have a place in my heart no one else ever could have 🍃

F. Scott Fitzgerald

“ ..The sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.. ”

- Virginia Woolf “To the Lighthouse” 1927

Why are all the best things I write just flowers and vanilla and sunlight? Honestly, I’ve detected a distinct theme. I’m not sure if I’m complaining. I do like flowers and vanilla and sunlight, and I do enjoy writing different types of light, especially that honey-gold, early-morning sunlight. I just wish I could be that good at writing anything else.

You ever see a pretty dress, a well-organised notebook, a peculiar balcony or read one line of poetry and get the overwhelming urge to reinvent yourself

A Poem of Many Poems

To write, my darling

It is the only way, truly,

To be heard forever

I write because-

Because

No one can take it away

From me

Or from the world

As the poets say,

Littera scripta manet

The written word remains

Indefinitely

Even when not a soul

Can understand a word

Of what I’ve written,

The letters will be there,

The sounds,

The beauty

That there is in words,

In language

I will be a relic,

A fossil preserved in the golden amber

Of eternity

And words

The poet is as the musician is,

Forever in sound

Words and are simply that,

Beautiful melody

Love should be easy, like sunshine on a summer day, like peeling oranges. It should be easy, but it isn't.

Some nights I still love the boy I loved when I was 13 even though I never think about him. He wrote me letters every time he missed me and played Panic at the Disco a little too loud. A girl I once held hands with all night told me that a full moon means the sun was happy that day and I still try to make the sun smile every time I look above. And it shouldn't have hurt when I told her I didn't love her anymore, I didn't. But some days I still do.

Love should be easy but it's old photographs, it's love letters that I still keep in a black box by my bedside table. It's puzzles whose pieces don't exist in my memory anymore. Love should be easy. It isn't.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire