Foxglove Perimeter

vintage perfume bottles, dusty books, stained glass windows, velvet sofas, dried roses, lipstick smudged coffee cups, shiny shoes, whispered wishes.

THE ARCHIVES

Prose and Poems:

Poems

A Poem About Rain

Icarus Also Flew

An Ode to Rays of Sun

To learn that

Jealousy

Eyes

Women

A Pretty Little Message to Myself

She

An Ode to Pools of Moonlight

A Poem of Many Poems

If I Don’t Love You

Achilles and the London Boy

Sunlit Gold

A Flower-Scented Morning

Hungover on Tears

A Magnolia Tree Kiss

“What is happiness?”

Giulia’s New Book

Meeting Diana

Giulia’s Diary:

Personal

Giulia Has a Crush

Linguistics, My Beloved

Last Book That I…

Flowers and Vanilla and Sunlight

Mornings

Goodbye, Achilles and the London Boy :(

Book-Related

Sense and Sensibility

Butterfly Bookmark

Emma

History Class Advice

Giulia’s Predictions 1

Giulia’s Predictions 2

The Secret History

Camilla Macaulay

Odds and Ends:

Quotes

A Book I’ll Never Write

To define is to limit, darling.

Books and Forests

The Secret History

“Goodness, you magpies.”

“It’s nothing.”

Everything was bathed in celestial light.

“But how,” said Charles…

That was a cozy night, a happy night…

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

My heartbeat trembled in my fingertips…

The wind was up…

Shades of Eton

Unworldly airs of ancient romance that…

The Iliad

Anguish gripped Achilles…

Other

I Loved My Friend

It isn’t Spring until…

Vive vita tua, nam morte tua morieris.

Photos

Books and Tea

Notes Scrawled in Margins

Tweed Blazer Outfit

Books and Flowers

Academy on the Hill

Home Screen

Italian Dialects Alignment Chart

Good Morning, May

The Secret History

Giulia on Pinterest

Pink Flower

Joseph Leyendecker Illustration

Joseph Leyendecker Illustration II

Photo Boards

Achilles and the London Boy

First Photo Board

First Photo Board, Labeled

ArtBreeder Photo Board

Ahem, I may or may not have read far too many novels recently. How do I know this? I have now developed a slight crush on my academic rival in school. Goodness.

She

She is marble

She is glass—

All that falls to the floor

And cracks

She is snowdrop

She is rose—

All that wilts on its stem

And dies

Why must I compare her

To a flower

Or a statue—

Is not being enough?

She is not delicate

She is not rock

She is human

When she is cut

Blood spills

Is not brown hair

And freckles

And honey-shining eyes

Enough?

For this world

Plainly not.

How could I lead myself to think?

For a moment

For a second

*drowns myself in romanticized idealizations*

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)!