Coffeerson - Cofferson

I want to be someone's muse, the object of someone's desires. I want to be something somebody thinks about all day. I want to be painted on a canvas by a painter, to be written in words by a poet. I want to be the inspiration for somebody's art.

reading books in Latin, coffee stained papers, piles of books on the desk, spilled ink, wine bottles with a candle stick in it, cherry red lips, a very chaotic mind of new stanzas and creative work. Grecian artwork and statues that crumbled over time. revlon lipsticks and dior blush.

foaming at the mouth at the realization that the climax of The Secret History started with Henry "kidnapping" Camilla like the Trojan War started because of Paris "kidnapping" Helen

· And I didn't have nothing more to say. It was horribly silent in my empty mind. And then one single scream.

The first and the last one ·

what if richard just died during the whole pneumonia/frostbite plotline. and the rest of the story is followed by him as an unreconciled ghost, haunting and influencing his classmates until he gets a resolved ending to their story at Hampden. when he sees henry's ghost at the end of the novel he's not actually dreaming, he's on the plain of the dead with him where dead souls trap themselves by obsessing over their past lives. and ever since henry died, he hasn't yet moved on to the afterlife; he's been waiting for the moment richard finally lets go of his life on earth so they can leave together. and when richard, after haunting each individual classmate for years, finally accepts there's nothing more left to the fantasy of his greek class other than misery, he decides that he's finally done, and moves on with henry to the afterlife.

i have so many hobbies and interests but each day the four horsemen (instant gratification, shortened attention span, procrastination, exhaustion) grab me by the throat and shake me until i collapse in my comfy bed

nothing, null, hollow, hole

@<3

You became like coffee, in the deliciousness, and the bitterness, and the addiction.

Mahmoud Darwish

Lacrimosa, 2020 | Nicola Samori Oil on onyx and Trani stone