bosqies - Tumblr blog

[bosqies]

last week's thing

[bosqies]

Gonna go to the college's library to try to focus today.

I have a very important exam on the next week, so I REALLY need to learn something. And learn FAST. Help 😭😭😭😭

[bosqies]

tirei 980 na redação, aí sim einnnnnn

[bosqies]

im trying to start drawing again so there is some shadow study i had yesterday. i actually liked it, to be honest. still think the balls could be better, though.

[bosqies]

Vocês têm interesse em dicas de redação?

[bosqies]

rating 2/10 for today's studies.

Honestly I knew I would feel difficulties to execute the math exercises but bro... I am exhausted and I just didn't get almost anything. ☠️

Hope tomorrow I can get better results, fr.

[bosqies]

Henry Moret (French, 1856–1913)

[bosqies]

archive moodboard: order for @opheliadae | want one?

[bosqies]

Everything That Happens Can Be Called Aging

by Carl Adamshick

I have more love than ever. Our kids have kids soon to have kids. I need them. I need everyone to come over to the house, sleep on the floor, on the couches in the front room. I need noise, too many people in too small a space, I need dancing, the spilling of drinks, the loud pronouncements over music, the verbal sparring, the broken dishes, the wealth. I need it all flying apart. My friends to slam against me, to hold me, to say they love me. I need mornings to ask for favors and forgiveness. I need to give, have all my emotions rattled, my family to be greedy, to keep coming, to keep asking and taking. I need no resolution, just the constant turmoil of living. Give me the bottom of the river, all the unadorned, unfinished, unpraised moments, one good turn on the luxuriant wheel.

[bosqies]

The Opal Dream Cave

by Katherine Mansfield

In an opal dream cave I found a fairy: Her wings were frailer than flower petals, Frailer far than snowflakes. She was not frightened, but poised on my finger, Then delicately walked into my hand. I shut the two palms of my hands together And held her prisoner. I carried her out of the opal cave, Then opened my hands. First she became thistledown, Then a mote in a sunbeam, Then—nothing at all. Empty now is my opal dream cave.

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