MOVED

John Keats’ handwritten poem “Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes” written at Keswick on 28 June 1818 in a letter to George and Georgiana Keats. The poem reads:

Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes And sweet is the voice in its greeting. When adieux have grown old and goodbyes Fade away when old time is retreating. Warm the nerve of a welcoming hand and earnest a kiss on the brow, When we meet over the sea and o’er land Where furrows are new to the plough.

one quote//four lockscreens - the song of achilles

trc character study [3/6]: blue sargent

@fyeahmyths summer myth event — Day 13: Oceanian deity

sleeping in way too late

“oh no it’s 4 am and i’m still awake”

mindlessly refreshing the same apps over and over

picking up a book only to put it down because the words aren’t processing in your brain

listening to the same three albums repeatedly

either eating every snack you own within an hour or forgetting to eat for like half the day

“if i don’t do my summer homework it doesn’t exist”

wearing the same sundress three days in a row

watching your friends hang out with each other as you stay at home and stare at the wall

consistently forgetting to respond to people who text you

reminiscing over past summers and how much fun you had then

wanting the school year to start but also feeling Crushing Anxiety when you think of how soon it is

drinking like a gallon of water every hour or not having any water all day and dehydrating

unbrushed hair

lying down on the floor

“what day is it today”

mosquitoes make you feel downright murderous

watching movies only to get distracted

even sitting around at home makes you tired

get to know me ☰ (5/10) movies —  atonement

                                 Dear Cecilia, 

Please don’t throw this away without reading it. As you’ll have seen from the notepaper, I’m here at St. Thomas’s, doing my nurses’ training. I decided not to take up my place at Cambridge. I decided I wanted to make myself useful, do something practical. But no matter how hard I work, no matter how long the hours, I can’t escape from what I did and what it meant, the full extent of which I’m only now beginning to grasp. Cee, please write and tell me we can meet.