TSH Moodboard: Henry & Richard
‘Henry?’ I said at last, my voice scarcely more than a whisper. He let the cigarette fall from his fingers and took a step towards me. It really was him - damp, ruddy cheeks, snow on the shoulders of his overcoat. ‘Good God, Richard,’ he said, ‘what’s happened to you?’ It was as much surprise as I ever saw him show. I stood where I was, staring, unbalanced. Things had got too bright. I reached for the door frame, and the next thing I knew I was falling, and Henry jumped forward to catch me. He eased me onto the floor and took off his coat and spread it over me like a blanket. ‘Where did you come from?’ I said. ‘I left Italy early.’ He was brushing the hair back from my forehead, trying to get a better look at my cut. I saw blood on his fingertips.
What do you mean you've never had imaginary interviews in your head where the interviewer would ask you deep questions about life, love and human existence and you would give even deeper answers and the audience would give standing ovations and some people would even tear up????
Chaotic academics during quarantine: Reading until ungodly hours, sleeping in later than the world should allow, waking in a frantic haze anxiously staring at the clock and how the day ticked by during your deep slumber, anxiously thumbing through a book to catch up (when will you ever have this much time to read again?), staying in bed with a mound of half-read books at your side, a cup of black tea becoming cold as you forget it whilst inhaling Oscar Wilde and Edgar Allan Poe, reading The Yellow Wall Paper with trembling hands, muttering poetry under your breath, isolated.
archive moodboard for @bakwaaas
expectation: i leave these browser tabs open, and they serve as a reminder to do the activities on those sites
reality: i become very good at ignoring browser tabs
Moodboard: Dead Poets Society.
“Carpe, carpe. Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.”
fendi hc ss21