Well, it’s been a bit since I posted. I’m back from the dead, you can sleep easy now.
Anyway, I thought describing or matching books to an aesthetic would be positively lovely. It would also give me something to write because I haven’t written since the beginning of October when I finished my first draft of we fly among the stars.
Now that the basic introduction is over, I’m going to jump in.
Brown paper packages, delicate wildflowers blowing in the wind, letters tied up with twine, pecks on the cheek, small secret smiles, the squeaky wheel on a rusty bicycle, pleated skirts, large stone steps, knee socks matched with Mary Janes, wooden crates of produce, and morning sunrises.
Post-its covering the walls, battered up converse sneakers, rolling green meadows, dipping your toe into the cold lake water, stacks of picture books, glow in the dark paint, the warm sunshine on your back, the taste of strawberry ice cream on your tongue, uncontrollable laughter, and the rainbow on the wall when the sun hits your glass of water.
Mist gathering in the dark night, jack-o-laterns on the front steps, skeleton trees stripped of leaves, the roar of a motorbike, the smell of gasoline, dark curls falling in front of your eyes, candle flames flickering, a full moon peeking out from behind clouds, thin lace curtains, old books with folded pages, and rusty red blood on the forest floor.
Tangled computer cords, high rise buildings, the reflection of the screen in your glasses, the clicking of keys, beeping of electronics, dark starless nights, LED marquees on the side of the road, cracked glass, shoes squeaking on the polished floor, burnt out bulbs, and the shiny buttons on a neatly pressed uniform.
Gold coins, the smell of the salty sea, lighting cutting through the sky, howling winds, the loud clang when two swords meet, the rumbling of thunder, a rough wood sign, teenagers laughing, shoes smacking the pavement, angry cries as you charge, orange T-shirts weaving in and out of crowds, and the crash of waves against the cliffside.
Red hot iron, wicker baskets filled with screws and nails, gold glitter falling from the sky, rusty gears, a night twinkling with stars, the dark underground, the gleam of fire, hulking machines squealing to a stop, brown leather satchels, running over rooftops, brass buckles, and Big Ben’s hands forever resting on twelve o’clock.
Frost on the tips of the grass, the sharp sting when you cut too deep, cold metal smooth to your touch, light pink lipstick, staring dead eyed in the mirror, pushing the food away, heaters whooshing in your car, snatches of whispered conversation, full plates at the end of a meal, harsh light stinging your eyes, pale skin, and the taste of longing on your tongue.
Blue and green plaid kilts, lush green meadows, the echo of bag pipes through the valley, demons lurking in the shadows, the calm before the storm, cream feathered wings, strong arms to protect you, rubber boots splashing in the puddles, moss covered rocks, ships in a bottle, and the whispering of the spirit world.
Cheerful ukulele strumming, pigtails bobbing with each step, bright smiles, on freckled faces, flip flops smacking the sidewalk, the loud ringing of a bell, yellow school buses parked in straight lines, turning your head up to the blue sky, endless weekends, rainbow finger paint, the colour yellow, Arizona sunsets, and shooting for the stars.
You should check out any of the books I featured in this post, they’re all very wonderful. Have a lovely day!