per aspera ad astra

“When I imagine myself I am barely there.”

- Clementine Von Radics

The cover is worn, dark-brown leather, with scuff marks from overuse and a tiny navy blue nail polish stain on the corner.

The handwriting is almost impossible to read, but there's no address, so you try to decipher it in order to maybe find the name of a school or something and return it.

The pages are thick and wrinkled, smothered in quotes and paint and pressed flowers. There are song lyrics in the margins of every page and all of them are either you favorite songs and bands or songs or new favorites you'd never heard of before.

The drawings tell you that whoever's journal it is lives in your town, the journaler has sketched out several local spots, including the dusty record shop you're always too intimidated to explore.

It feels strange, knowing this much personal information about a stranger, and sometimes you think you should stop but then the journaler would never get their beautiful journal back. You read about their classes, you read their first drafts of poetry, their relationship with their parents, and you start to feel closer to this stranger than you ever have to your friends.

Your closet is full of old vintage clothes from estate sales and thrift stores. You enjoy the feeling of wearing something that belonged to someone else.

You have a vinyl record collection, composed of most of your favorite bands, and each record was carefully selected from a dimly lit record shop that always smells old and musty. You spend several hours there sometimes just searching through the poorly organized cardboard boxes, and if a customer comes in and can't find what they want you always know where it is.

All your books are marked up with notes and highlighter beside all your favorite passages.

You always carry a worn leather journal with you, and passing strangers on the bus always try to catch a glimpse, but you have a very unique and dramatic handwriting that makes it impossible for anyone to read whatever poem/diary entry/quote/song lyric you've written down.

You have a special spot at the local library in a saggy leather chair beside a window on the top floor by the mystery section. You know all the librarians and they let you renew your books WAY more times than should be allowed. They always tell you when any good poetry or fiction books come in.

You always have your headphones in, and have a playlist for every scenario: rainy days inside, walking down the street and the air smells like fresh flowers, sitting by the pool reading a new novel, staring out the window on a road trip, etc.

Thank you so much! My day has been lovely, I got some really good news today :)

It’s nice to have a good day without having to force it to be good.

I’ve been reading a lot too, which should go without saying for someone with a dark academia blog, but I’d been struggling to read and it feels like I can finally focus.

THE LOVE QUIZ

Take this short quiz and discover what kind of guy you’re destined to be with!

You and your friends are hanging out over the weekend, what place do you suggest?

A) A haunted house.

B) A restaurant.

C) A bar.

Which sounds the best to you?

A) Making out.

B) Holding hands.

C) They’re smoking. You say something stupid about how smoking kills and they laugh and blow a big cloud up into the air. It falls around their perfect face and blurs the neon lights of the bustling city that opens up on the other end of the alley. They turn to you and smile wryly, and you start to feel a little bit dizzy, and run back inside.

What’s your favorite food?

A) Pizza, lol, I’m OBSESSED with pizza.

B) Candy! I have such a sweet tooth.

C) The taste of their lips.

How do you usually behave during arguments?

A) I get pretty worked up and say some things I regret.

B) I’m usually the bigger person, I don’t like conflict.

C) Slam the door because you’re tired of listening to your husband scream, “Barbara! Where have you been all week! You can just leave without saying anything! I had to go to Pamela’s house party BY MYSELF, while you were God knows where- Are you listening to me?!”

How do you like to spend your birthdays?

A) Getting drunk af.

B) Invite over a small group of friends to watch The Bachelor.

C) Cry in your car until your phone lights up, and then speed down the rain-slicked road on your way to meet them and get pulled over. Fail the breathalyzer test, even though you ONLY HAD TWO GLASSES OF WINE. Get driven home in the back of a police car.

How would you like to spend that first night together? ;)

A) Things are gonna get crazy.

B) It needs to be special: candles, roses, the works.

C) Wake up beside your husband because you hear something downstairs. Stay completely silent as the door creaks open and it’s them, with a switchblade. They grab your hand and press the handle of the knife into it, smiling that same wry smile from that first night at the bar.

D) You close your eyes as they guide your hand to the place where your husband is sleeping. Suddenly your hands are wet, and there’s a muffled screaming. You open your eyes and they have their hand over your husband’s mouth so the noise won’t wake up the neighbors.

E) You start laughing nervously and your voice gets louder and louder until they have to slap you in the face to bring you back to the present moment.

F) You carry the body to the unfinished rose bed and roll him in, bloody sheets and everything. The two of you pat on a top layer of dirt and plant the remaining rose bushes on top.

Finally, how would your ideal wedding go?

A) Black dress, I’m crazy like that.

B) Flowers everywhere and a huge cake.

C) Just the two of you in a courthouse on the other side of the country, no family or friends except each other.

The results!

Mostly As: you’ve got a bit of a wild side and need a bad boy to match that.

Mostly Bs: you’re a sweet girl who needs her own Romeo.

The room is crowded with dancers clad in expensive, jewel-toned gowns and coats, though you can’t seem to make out any of their faces.

The dining table is laden with large plates of shining heaps of meat, and delicately ornate cake platters. The whole arrangement smells of cardamom and cinnamon.

The music is smooth as silk, though you can’t tell quite what instrument it’s coming from.

You begin to feel a little dizzy, overwhelmed by the noise and chatter, when a gloved hand presents itself to you and you take it without thinking. You find yourself dancing with an attractive stranger, their eyes an uneasy sort of yellow, oddly snake like.

You dance until your feet ache, and when the stranger turns their back you fade into the crowd and wander to some secluded section of the house, your back against the cold wall, breathing heavily.

And slowly counting down my body weight

I’m tired.”

You let your suitcases drop to the floor. The cases are covered with many stickers representing all the countries you’ve visited.

The rug that covers the floor is intricately woven and colorful, no doubt an expensive import from Marrakesh. You slip off your penny loafers and hold them in one hand, stepping cautiously over the rug and looking about the room.

There are no photographs of family, only your aunt with many different animals, from foxes to elephants to tigers.

The unmistakably vague crackling of a record player wafts through the halls, and you follow the honey-sweet music up the stairs to a neatly arranged library, every book in its rightful place, save for a small stack by a large armchair.

In the armchair, a young man has his face hidden behind a copy of Jane Eyre, the light from a large window painting his hair a golden brown, and dust moats floating through the air like snowflakes.