Spent A Few Hours Studying Here The Other Day. (x) if You Choose To Repost These Images, Credit Me Using

Late evening calligraphy studies creating a Macaulay-twins-flat-like mess – tea cups and ink stains all around

Two cappuccinos and 180 pages of Wolf Hall…

I started reading The Secret History because I fell into the trap that is dark academia (a very good trap indeed), but I had actually heard of the it before and only by seeing the cover of the book had I recalled one of the most poignant memories of my recent life.

Some moons ago, past midnight on a September evening, I was sitting on the floor in the bedroom of a boy I so greatly admired. He sat on the end of his bed with his head between his knees and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was recovering from one too many drinks, as a few hours prior, my friend and I were helping him get home from a party and forcing him to drink water so he wouldn’t die from alcohol poisoning. She had already left, leaving the two of us alone, him sobering up. From his phone speakers, classical music played, and he spoke to me about songs I would like, as well as book recommendations. He then said something about the book he was reading at the time, and that I’d like it very much, but I couldn’t make out who the author nor the title from what he was saying as he had his head between his knees. Nor could I pay proper attention because although I don’t drink, I was in a drunken stupor of being alone in his presence.

It was some moments later that he shuffled over and made a gesture for me to sit next to him. And so I did, and he wrapped his blanket around the two of us and rested his head on my left shoulder. I don’t remember if either of us had said a word, but the music kept playing. Two pieces remain with me: Gymnopédie No. 1 by Erik Satie, and Song on the Beach by Arcade Fire. I almost cried because of how truly happy I felt.

Nothing more happened between us that night. He fell asleep on my shoulder, and I had to go home. But before leaving I noticed that the book he was talking about was on his nightstand. A book none other than The Secret History by Donna Tartt. “… [A] group of clever, eccentric misfits at an elite New England college discover a way of thinking and living that is a world away from the humdrum existence of their contemporaries … ”

He was right. I did enjoy the book. As for him and I, that’s another story that I won’t delve into. It’s one that pertains more to tragedy than comedy.

Euripides’ Hecuba c. 424 BC

dark academia in 2021:

dark academia pinterest boards, binders stuffed with neatly written notes, early mornings spent analysing poetry, hot tea for cold rainy nights, studying hard, but not too hard, good grades and well-written essays, piles upon piles of books from that amazon sale, zero procrastination, customising your ios 14 layout based on your favourite books, leather-bound journals filled with messy scribbles, zero missing google classroom assignments, insightful debates about the latest government policies, scented candles, iced coffee for hot summer days, more scented candles, passionately researching about your favourite show or book.

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good

15.02.21, monday

morning, afternoon & evening; from calm to an absolute chaos.

@boudicca’s archive

— Oscar Wilde, from The Picture Of Dorian Gray