keep a jar of memories on your shelf and open it often to review the moments that shaped you, the people who loved you, the beauty that surrounded you. these are the treasures of the heart and by preserving them you keep the past alive and the present meaningful. ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎   ୨୧ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ january:

  • sparkling wine; the trill of birds in the morning, followed by the symphony of raindrops in the afternoon; leftover panettone for half its price at the market; vanilla-scented body lotion after a cold shower; lists of books soon to-be-read; fresh bread with cinnamon and honey; the blank pages of a new journal being filled with dreams and wishes; re-discovering an old beloved band, white chocolate milkshake with heart-shaped ice cubes.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ february:

  • the moon gracing the skies mid-afternoon; memorising e.e. cummings poems; the warm seaside wind; coconut bread served with a spoonful of greek yogurt; moon jelly season; white cotton curtains swawing with the wind; getting an ear infection from swimming in the ocean too often; recovering in bed while watching 'the joy of painting'; the acceptance of feeling fragile in exchange for the gentle promise of healing.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ march:

  • vanilla sponge cake for breakfast; reading one mary oliver poem every day; cutting my hair short again; trying to identify birds only by their call; painting my nails in the shade tutu; having lilac by iu on repeat; buying tea flavours that i never tried before; spending more time outdoors as the seasons change; watching the races with dad again; using watercolour to decorate my journal; wearing no makeup but mascara lately.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ april:

  • thoughtful birthday messages; freshly picked flowers displayed on a glass vase; overindulging in chocolate eggs; the sound of raindrops tapping on the car windows; poetry month; hot cross buns with a cup of chamomile tea; the lovely cadence of daffodils swaying in the breeze; the first picnic of the year in a sun-kissed park; journaling in pink coloured pens; the joy of witnessing nature's transitions; presents wrapped in pink bows.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ may:

  • handwritten letters filled with heartfelt sentiments; leaving home in the foggy morning and breathing out little misty clouds; the return of the book fair to the town centre; wearing knit socks that go up to my knees; embracing the shorter days by going to bed earlier; waking up to the sound of seagulls flying over the vigorous ocean tides; reading jane austen once again; the aroma of fresh croissants filled with chocolate.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ june:

  • going to the ballet with university friends; the feeling of a mug of hot chocolate warming your chilled hands; lazy afternoons spent reading poetry snuggled in blankets; dancing barefoot on plush carpets; nursing a cold with lemon tea and honey; baking cookies with sound of clair de lune playing from the living room; a sweet nostalgia for the winter holidays of childhood.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ july:

  • the days getting just slightly longer; going on dates that lead to nothing, but are still great fun; lavender clouds at sunset; conversations about claude monet; ordering blueberry cake slices at the café; rewatching my old audrey hepburn dvds; buying myself a bouquet of white hydrangeas; receiving a farewell present from my favourite professor; plenty of kisses.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ august:

  • sunlit mornings followed by rainy afternoons; wearing my hair tied in a ponytail with a tendril on each side; rosé wine; flower festival season at the botanical garden; angel by halle on repeat; spraying rose water on linen bedsheets; memorising short poems and reciting them to myself before sleep; black & white romance movies; lipstick marks on coffee cups; ballet flats; going to the theatre and befriending some old ladies.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ september:

  • developing an obsession with homemade marzipans; taking my lunch breaks by the lakeside; reading poems about the beauty of everyday life; starfilled night skies; listening to tchaikovsky while walking home instead of taking the bus; wearing small jewelry with pearl details; pink flowers blooming everywhere; mon amie la rose; silver windows for window-shopping.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ october:

  • finding freedom in a state of constant dreaminess; heart padlock pendants; baking a pink vanilla cake for my mum's birthday; cecile corbel; sending photos of the moon to all my friends; white roses scented shampoo; camera roll filled with photos of my darling cat; wearing my nails short with little handpainted flowers; rice puddings with condensed milk.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ november:

  • rain season begins once again; reading leonard cohen lyrics out loud like poetry; greek yogurt with blueberries and honey; odes to romance; competing with my friends over who can find panettone for sale the earliest; gentle breezes and drives with windows down; spraying the curtains with lavender perfume and letting the wind carry the scent in; shopping for journals for the next year; falling asleep to the sounds of a rainstorm.

— ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ december:

  • daydreams of fairytale endings; rewatching the nutcracker as often as possible; wearing my hair in a ballerina bun with a satin ribbon; baking together as a love language; flowers in december by mazzy star; sunsets when the clouds are pink; brand new pajamas and watching cartoons in bed; full moon; popping champagne bottles; the year ending on a sunday.
jan 1 2023 ∞
jan 1 2024 +