1.21.2020 : my 8 am took me out today, but i have over an hour to study! Goal: read from chapter 7 through 12 in Persuasion by Jane Austin
I named her Laila. I haven’t seen a pony quite like her. Her eyes are sparkling blue, and her jaws are perfectly aligned that it looks like she is smiling all the time. She has silky silver hair that sways as she runs around our backyard in a carefree manner. Laila loves hay very much. Our house servants feed her hay thrice a day like clockwork. I also let her graze the grass in our garden. Every evening I take her for a ride in the race track behind our house. She is my best friend.
I used to have a human best friend. Sheila was my best friend since elementary school. We were partners in crime. We grew up together, attending the same classes and playing together after school. We were inseparable. Ever since my father got super rich for representing one of the wealthy companies, she stopped hanging out with me. She probably thought I wouldn’t be the same anymore. But I haven’t done anything for her to entertain such a possibility. Nevertheless, I didn’t stop reaching out to her. I tried to walk alongside her in the school hallway on the way to our classes like we usually did. But she sprinted and disappeared on me. I tried sitting next to her in our class. But she made sure that I never found an empty seat around her. I kept calling her home every evening after school. No one picked the call. Even if someone did, they never let me speak to her. She completely iced me out.
I was sad and lonely for a very long time wondering what went wrong. I kept blaming myself for her leaving me. It got so gloomy that I refused to step outside my room, let alone attending school. That’s when my dad promised me to get anything I wanted in an attempt to cheer me up. I asked for a pony and voila! I got Laila. Who needs Sheila anymore when I have got Laila?
“A shadow falls, a fragment of night: a day goes, a fragment of death. Life and the sun tomorrow.”
- Charles Henri Ford, Water from a Bucket
“Books are my friends, my companions. They make me laugh and cry and find meaning in life.”
- Christopher Paolini, Eragon
to sleep to sleep
here’s a piece of my love story:
i love the way the sun kissed his skin
the way his lashes would sweep over his cheeks
the way his smile makes me thaw
the crooked dimple on the left of his cheek
i love him for his flaws
the way he cries himself to sleep
the shape of the brutal scar on his arm
the way he sometimes bite his lips until it bleed
there were days when he would smile at me
we would sit underneath that oak tree
my finger making idle circles in the sky
pointing out airplanes or the shape of the cloud
he would tell me stories
until the last traces of the sun
disappeared from the sky
there were mornings
when he would tell me i’m his biggest miracle
there were evenings
when he would tell me he hates my guts
that he blamed the universe for the way things are
nights with bottles of liquor
cigarettes and unshed tears
there are things i wish i could make up to him
that he’s loved
that he’s worthy
he looks elsewhere
blowing out the smoke of his cigarette
“can you love a dead soul?
someone with demons in his mind
and a void in his heart?”
Jude St. Francis by @nastyashentseva #alittlelifebookart #alittlelifebook https://ift.tt/2TLAfqG
Got kinda bored in my exam today so I tried to draw a whale but failed miserably and when my neighbor saw she nearly fucking lost it
Laken in The Wandering Inn is a character that I would consider a positive example of what I’ve been looking for when I say I want a “positively selfish” character. It’s much like all of the fanfiction slytherins, in that they operate on an additional level beyond “this is mine”, namely, “this is mine and I will protect it.”
I can’t remember the Terry Pratchett quote that brings this concept to mind, but it makes me happy to see a bit more of it in media.
“There’s something cold and heavy sitting on me somewhere, and until something budges it I am no good."
“But how could you live and have no story to tell?”
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
On this day in history, January 21, 1789 – The first American novel, The Power of Sympathy or the Triumph of Nature Founded in Truth by William Hill Brown, is printed in Boston.
From our stacks: Frontispiece and title page from The Power of Sympathy. William Hill Brown. Reproduced from the First Edition. With a Bibliographical Note By Milton Ellis. Volume I. Published for the Facsimile Text Society By Columbia University Press. New York: 1937.