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#bookislife
misssclumsy · 1 year
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"Hey, are you okay?"
"no bitch i fall in love with every villain i ever seen"
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v-readingspace · 7 months
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I wonder why I don't go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip one hour more of sleep and live.
- The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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poeticsdialogue · 1 year
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Currently reading 📖
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selenepluto · 10 days
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"The mind has a vast capacity for oblivion."
~Aldous Huxley
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neptuuncartoon · 11 days
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These days, there was something special about the color of the sky😊
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binteafaque8 · 8 months
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lepra-art · 7 months
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Tristan and Morana from book series “Dark Verse” written by RuNyx💙
Art commission
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aesthetic-solar-space · 11 months
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Annotating/Tabbing books
Is it just me or are annotated books just really really pretty? Like to me at least it really doesn’t matter how you annotate all of it is super beautiful to me.
If I thought I could I would literally annotate every book I read but that’s just too much.
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zheltyykot · 1 year
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Emily Henry - Book Lovers
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patheticc-fallacy · 2 years
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Men who reads spicy romance books 🧎🏻‍♀️
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12 AM was the perfect hour to start Norvegian Wood
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misssclumsy · 6 months
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UNDERSTOOD!
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owlmoonboi · 15 days
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Daisy
Chapter One: The arrival
Daisy sat on the train, nervously pinching her arm, her brown hair tinged with red in the sunlight. Her neatly braided hair was matched with a tight, dark blue dress that made her feel constricted. Across from her, a woman comforted a crying baby whose face was red and glistening with tears. “Shh…shh it’ll be ok darling.” The woman whispered sweetly as though it was a lullaby. The scene tugged at Daisy’s heart strings as small tears rolled down her face. She could feel a memory coming. Her memories come and go like the sun rises each morning. It was undeniable and true. Her past clung onto her tight like a looming shadow.
She was in a small room which had white walls and grey carpet. Cradling a baby in her arms she paced up and down. Her feet were tired. She was small, lucky to be six at the oldest. There was a sixteen year old girl slapping a girl about the age of thirteen until she bled. The younger girl was crying as another girl who was around fifteen pulled her curly blonde hair. Tears drenching her face. Daisy tugged the baby tighter with fear. The caretaker Mrs Higgins was in her room with a man and she had warned them earlier “If anyone comes knocking at my door I’ll come at you with the wooden spoon.” Mrs Higgins brought men over a lot and was often drunk. Whenever a man came over she’d say ”I think I might be having twins.” Or the children would hear moans coming from the room.
At just twelve, Daisy had already faced more than her fair share of hardships. Her parents, Andrew and Anna, had passed away before she even reached her first birthday. Andrew died in an accident while constructing the town bridge. Her mother, Anna, followed, succumbing to the measles. With both parents gone, Daisy's life seemed to disintegrate.
On top of her parents' tragic deaths, both sets of her grandparents had passed away before she was born. Daisy's only hope after her parents' passing was her aunt, Lily, but fate didn't allow their reunion.
Lily, Daisy's sole living relative, had herself been pulled into the chaos of war. She worked as a nurse and had left Daisy to serve the country in times of need. However, upon her return, Lily found Daisy in an orphanage, but lost track of her whereabouts as she sought to care for her. Tragically, Daisy had been moved between different orphanages, and Lily couldn't trace her down. Lily's wartime experiences, the haunting sights of men succumbing to their injuries despite her efforts, left a lasting mark on her. It plagued her every sleep, acting out her nightmares, and Lily was later institutionalized in an asylum.
This torment lingered in Lily's heart, manifesting in the form of nightmares that she couldn't contain. The guilt for leaving Daisy when she needed someone the most tore Lily apart. She was devastated at her inability to help those she watched die and those she couldn't nurse back to health. The realization that she couldn't rescue Daisy in her most vulnerable moment had haunted Lily and continued to haunt her in her own shattered state. The pain eventually became too much for Lily leading her to jump from the roof of the asylum as an escape from the harsh reality known as life.
Daisy carried the heartache of never really knowing Lily, the aunt who was her last, fragile link to her family. Lily was a nebulous figure in Daisy's life, someone she encountered sporadically, yet whose presence had a remarkable impact on her childhood. Their few interactions were fleeting moments, but ones filled with tenderness and a fragile sense of connection that Daisy held onto dearly.
The limited time they spent together felt like a brief flicker of warmth in an otherwise chilly existence. Daisy held onto the pieces of those moments—vague snippets of stories, fleeting smiles, and hushed conversations. Lily's voice was an echo in Daisy's memories, a soft, comforting whisper in a world otherwise cold and unfriendly. However, these memories were fleeting and never truly formed a complete image of who Lily was.
These scant recollections left Daisy in a peculiar state. She wished for more—more memories, more conversations, and more time. The void in her heart deepened as she yearned for the presence of a guardian she never truly knew. Lily was a puzzle with missing pieces, a mystery that haunted Daisy's lonely existence in the orphanage.
As Daisy moved from one place to another, the longing to know Lily, to feel the connection they might have had, grew stronger. Each time she entered a new home, her heart ached for the stories she never heard, the guidance she never received, and the love she never fully experienced from the aunt who had fought her own battles and ultimately succumbed to them.
This yearning for a deeper connection with Lily added to Daisy's sense of displacement. Her only anchor to her past was a series of fragmented memories, and a desperate yearning to understand the person she could never truly know. When she was seven she attended the funeral for her Aunt Lily dressed in a black dress and placing a rose at her tombstone.
In her turbulent journey from orphanage to orphanage, Daisy's life was a series of disrupted routines and shattered hopes. Ten different orphanages in just as many years painted a bleak picture of instability and perpetual transition. Each place was a transient and often unfriendly environment where she never had the chance to lay roots or find the stability she desperately needed.
The orphanages were places of despair, not of refuge. Daisy, shifting from one to another, found herself the target of maltreatment, always the scapegoat for the other children's frustration and anger. The older girls found pleasure in exerting their power over her, their pranks, often cruel, became her nightmares. Daisy, vulnerable and defenseless, was a convenient victim in their pursuit of a sense of power.
She was assigned chores that weren't appropriate for her age, forced into a life of responsibility that robbed her of her childhood. Cleaning at the age of three and tending to babies at the mere age of five created a burden far beyond what a child her age should carry.
The caretakers were no saviors either. Most were inebriated most of the time, bringing strange men home and leaving Daisy in an environment she couldn't comprehend. The careless brutality she faced was more evident during the caretakers' drunken escapades. "Making a baby tonight," they'd slur, the lewd and suggestive remarks tinged with an underlying cruelty that pierced Daisy's innocence.
As if her life weren't tumultuous enough, Daisy was later sent to an asylum. It wasn't because she needed mental health treatment; it was simply due to the lack of space in the orphanages. There were many other children there as well. Some who seeked help while others were there for the same reason as Daisy. The asylum was a realm of sheer horror, its walls echoing with tormented screams that reverberated into the silent nights. People would shout at the top of their lungs, their terror and nightmares transforming the place into an abyss of fear and despair. There were adults who ran around chasing each other with knives, many people who committed suicide and there was even babies who were addicted to drugs.
The other children's cruelty seemed to know no bounds. Daisy endured frightening assaults, such as being shoved near the fireplace or pushed down the stairs. If she wasn’t able to get up quick enough from the ground they’d kick her. The laughter that followed her distress at their hands haunted her dreams forming nightmares. Babies would cry ceaselessly, and nights were laced with maniacal screams or incomprehensible ramblings. Some, perhaps haunted by their traumas or haunted by imagined phantoms, would scream and gesticulate as if trapped in the clutches of their worst nightmares.
It was in this grim place that Daisy's fragile hope, already teetering on the brink, flickered and began to dim. It was a world away from the care and comfort a child her age should have experienced. Her hope was fire and the terrors she faced was rain. Fire can’t last with water.
“Are you alright darling? You seemed to be in a daze.” The woman sitting across from her asked. Daisy, too nervous to speak, nodded. Her whole life she had been told “Children are to be seen not heard.” Daisy found herself boarding a train, unsure of where the journey would lead her. She carried her essentials in a bag slung over her shoulder and, due to the limited funds, didn’t have the chance to purchase any food during the trip. With just her clothing and a series of heavy memories, she disembarked into the unknown.
She hopped off the train wandering through a crowd of bustling people. Men in suits with briefcases and women with their children. Daisy often felt jealous of children she saw with parents. She always felt a sense of longing for love. At the station, she noticed a weathered man with a white beard holding a piece of paper which said “Orphan” on it, “Who on Earth could that be for?” Daisy thought to herself as she stood still weary of the man. “What are you doing just standing there girly. If you’re an orphan, come on over.” The man grumbled. “Yes sorry sir.” Daisy mustered trying not to sound nervous. “I’m Grant Johnson. You’ll be living with me and my wife Martha.” He said breathly. She followed him to a cart which had a silver horse with a black mane and tail and a horse with a caramel coat that had a brown mane and coat. “What are their names?” Daisy asked shyly. “The silver one is named Mune and the caramel is named Toffee.” He responded with a smile. Mr Johnson is fond of animals. He likes to believe that a dog is man’s best friend even though he doesn’t own a dog. Mr Johnson was responsible for escorting her to the place that was to be her new home. As they traversed on a horse-drawn cart, Daisy tried to remain hopeful about the new chapter in her life. As Daisy looked at the tall trees and small shops with colourful window displays she began to imagine she was a lost princess being taken to the castle. When they arrived at their destination, she discovered that reality did not match the idyllic images she had conjured.
The farm was far from the welcoming scene she had hoped for, with mud-soaked grounds and a slightly dilapidated cottage. Yet, it was in this unforeseen setting that Daisy’s life was poised for an unexpected change.
“Who's she? What is she doing here? I asked for a boy. Why didn't you bring a boy, Grant?" Martha sternly questioned. "I'm sorry, Martha, but she was the only orphan there," Grant sighed. "I want her gone this instant. Send her back so we can get a boy. We need a boy to help you with the chores on the farm as your arthritis is worsening," Martha demanded. "Alright, honey, I'll send her back tomorrow at dawn."
"Please don't send me back. I'll do whatever you want. I can do whatever a boy can do if you give me the chance," Daisy pleaded with tears in her eyes, getting to her knees, ready to beg. "Tell me your name and get up from the ground. I won't have it," Martha said abruptly.
"Daisy Smith," Daisy stammered as she got up, wiping mud off her dress. "Daisy, seeing as I am a fair woman, I will give you a trial over the course of a week, but like baseball, it's three strikes and you're out. Do you understand?" Mrs. Johnson said.
"Yes, I understand. Why thank you very much, Mrs. Johnson. You won't regret having me," Daisy cheered. "I very well hope so," she responded as they went inside to the dining room. A hot meal of beef, bread covered with beef fat, greens, and baked potatoes awaited them on the table, served onto white plates with a gold leaf pattern and a glass of milk.
“Would you care to say a prayer?” Martha asked Daisy as they sat at the redwood table, before they began to eat. “I’m sorry but I don’t know any prayers. We didn’t eat meals together. Let alone pray. We were lucky if we were given dinner.” Daisy muttered meekly with a loose strand of hair hanging over her face. “Well child we’ll have to teach you how to say a prayer tomorrow. Tonight you can just say amen. Grant will say the prayer.” Martha stated appalled at the idea of someone not being raised to act for god.
After dinner Daisy helped Martha with the dishes. Daisy always strangely enough felt pleasure when doing the dishes as it had always been one of the nicer tasks she was given. She was always able to escape into a world of her own where the strife and hardships she faced could not bother her. She liked to imagine herself with the mother and father she never got to know. In most of her imaginings she is sitting in front of a fire with her mother brushing her hair while her father reads a story. She likes to think one day she’ll look like her mother, not that she knows what she looked like. She imagines her mother as a woman with skin that could be confused with snow, hair that cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall, a warm smile and eyes that melt the heart.
Martha assisted Daisy in saying a prayer before she went to bed. Daisy had let her long locks loose. Her hair sat at her waist. She was wearing a long white nightgown that was made of satin. Satin is a material similar to silk but a more cost friendly fabric. “Goodnight Daisy. Sleep well. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.” Martha hummed softly leaving the door ajar as she left the room. Daisy flicked the lamp next to her on the bedside table before gently placing her head on a pillow stuffed with duck feathers. The pillow had been made last winter when Grant had to kill a duck since it had grown ill.
Daisy smiled as she shut her eyes and went to sleep since for the first time in her life she felt like she was at home.
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poeticsdialogue · 1 year
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To the old you, from the old me 🤍
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beauty-is-terrror · 10 months
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What are some of your fav pieces of classic literature?
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neptuuncartoon · 3 months
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It was an ordinary day, like all the others…
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