#excerpts from books i'll never write

[lilliesand-valleys]

[writingthethoughtsaway]

“I believed you even when I knew you were lying.”

- S. C. C.

[letterstokami]

[vomitingwords]

and then I learned

how to cry

without tears

falling from my eyes

behind clouds // ma.c.a

[ninasdrafts]

(shortened)

[cvtastrophee]

i have yet to find the end to this pain.

[charmingwinds]

I read somewhere that the act of peeling oranges for someone is considered love. I found it stupid.

Then one day, I was home after a tiring day and there were oranges sitting on the counter. I knew they had to be eaten that day, a day later, they’d be rotten.

I was just too tired.

I completed my chores, and the oranges were still there, colourful and nudging, hoping I’d pick them up.

I walked past, and found my bed. My head comfortably rested on the pillows.

Those damn oranges.

I got up, sat on the counter and peeled them grudgingly. As I ate in silence, I understood what they meant. It was love alright, not peeling oranges but being taken care of.

[love-letters-i-never-sent]

[palladiumfragments]

my fingerprint was in the things i didn't say

all the things i didn't say is a tortured poet whose pockets i filled with stones and coaxed into walking into a lake down, down she goes never to be seen again. deep within, you know i, too, struck a match that led us to this precipice but without a body, mystery shrouds it like a story the townspeople think they know until you ask them about it.

so say the hard things one last time, your heart in your throat words hesitantly falling like a light summer rain. at the same moment, i was staring at the crash playing over your face like a see-through film scene. necessary lies filled the spaces where it could have been i tell myself, "better that than asking for forgiveness" i was already mad enough to let it haunt me it's these hands i can't stain.

soon, this case will turn cold confined in polaroids collecting dust in an evidence room fleeting, but in a way, timeless. i'll never speak of it again but nostalgia is the god i believe in so forgive me if i would still hear it in songs feel it in the shadows, bleed it into poems but darling if i spilled my guts you'll be the last to know.

[beforeyearning]

quiet musing in the kitchen. click for better quality. full transcript under the cut.

I love you. I don’t know what to do with my hands. If I stay

idle I think I would spontaneously combust, so I nervously

clean the kitchen. I put on the kettle, and heat up some

biscuits. The kitchen is a great hiding place, so I say it again,

I love you. You won’t hear it over the roar of the kettle &

hum of the air-fryer. At times, loving you feels like a

balancing act, because yes, I’ve forgotten to eat today

but I worshiped you in a hundred novel ways.

There’s a certain intimacy being hunched over a

couple of ripping hot pots and pans, transforming

the raw into something delicious. Maybe that’s why

I feel comfortable in the kitchen & with loving you—

love as an act of transformation, so I love you more,

so I can be anyone else but me.

[lilliesand-valleys]

[rizuuspoetry]

[writingthethoughtsaway]

“Do you have any idea of how many little things remind me of you everyday?”

- S. C. C.

[thesewordsaremymusings]

“I want to take my heart off my sleeve, it has grown too heavy.”

-m.n.

[apolline-lucy]

i am beyond thrilled to share the cover of my fantasy novel, THE HOLLOWS 🗡️💀🖤 coming out November 29, 2024!

Hollowing or rotting, such is the fate of Misttown’s witches.

With its eerie, unfading fog, enchanting shops selling cures in the forms of pastries and flowers, and its crystal market, Misttown is the perfect witchy haven. But when the fog vanishes, replaced by a strange green smoke, and ghosts begin to roam the streets, everything changes.

For Brume, a witch whose modest talents include being haunted by ghost cats, baking heartbreak-soothing treats, and uprooting moss and weeds, her uneventful life takes a dramatic turn. Not only is she the only one able to see the ghosts, but when she loses someone to the smoke, she has no choice but to investigate.

Accompanied by a half-demon, a bone witch, a seer, a necromancer, and a herd of ghosts, Brume embarks on a journey that might do more than solve the curse; she might find herself and the magic she has always been too afraid to embrace.

preorder for THE HOLLOWS is now live on Kindle Unlimited!

*only for ebooks; if you’d like to order a physical copy (paperback or hardcover) please wait until the release✨

Amazing art design by Makomeri

[heretoobsessstuff]

“we’re all gonna miss major Cleven, sir”.

Major Cleven John thought bitterly. Gale. Sweet beautiful Gale. Gale who was there. In the cockpit. Fighting for his life while John was sleeping next to a random woman. Gale who was falling from the sky. Living his last moments. Losing blood. In pain. Scared and cold and alone. While John was here in London. Drinking and coaxing a random woman to spend more time in his bed. Where was Gale now? His Gale. Laying on the dirt and mud somewhere? Lost in some distant German field with no one to look for him? His ocean blue eyes forever closed? What had become of him? Of his Gale? Was anything even left of him?

John felt sick with anger. His thoughts ran wild with no one to tame them. I should’ve never left him alone. I should’ve been up there with him. Protecting him. Looking out for him. It was supposed to be me and him left up in the sky. Not me in London and him lost somewhere I can never reach. It’s all my fault. I failed him. I failed him. Grief clawing at his throat. Suffocating him. His eyes stinging with unshed tears and the lump he had swollen down a hundred times with the alcohol. He needed to go. Avenge Buck. Or find him. Or join him. Wherever he was.

“Don’t worry Kenny” he said. Jumping into the Jeep. Hands shaking. “I don’t even feel it”.

Read Another drabble from Gale’s POV here: