Lemon kissed Beet

We all draw him in our world all the time but we forget where to draw the line.🧙🏻‍♂️

[colly-wobbles0]

What was common in us?

Our deceit....🪸

[colly-wobbles0]

Not everything beautiful has to survive an autopsy

I think one of the cruelest things a person can do is explain the magic out of something that was never asking to be understood. I grew up on folklore. On stories whispered after sundown. On grandmothers who never pointed at stars because "they were listening". On believing that if you carried a fallen feather home, someone somewhere remebered you kindly, and on quietly thanking rivers before crossing them, just in case they were older than they looked.

I KNOW THE SCIENCE. I know why the stars burn. I know why eclipses happen. I know why crows gather, why mirrors reflect and why the moon changes shape. I know constellations are human inventions stitched across indifferent suns. The other day, I said I loved the desperation of trying to find a constellation. The way you convince yourself, No, maybe that's Orion... no, perhaps over there. The excitement isn't in arriving. It's in searching.

Someone told me they just use an app. It tells you exactly where every constellation is. Every planet. Every celestial object. Efficient. Accurate. Foolproof. And I can't help but think 'But then what exactly is left to wonder?'. I don't want the sky handed to me with labels attached. There are people who can't let a story remain a story. Every piece of folklore becomes an opportunity for correction and a lesson in probability. They peel back every layer until all that's left is a mechanism. Well, as if reducing wonder to chemistry is somehow an act of generosity.

MAYBE they are right. Maybe everything worth-believing is explainable. But I don't think everything beautiful has to survive an autopsy. I have spent too much of my life beneath mountain skies to trade wonder for certainty. I hope to never become the sort of person who reaches for an explanation before allowing myself a moment of awe. Some things deserve to remain a little sacred. Not because they're true but because they make the world softer to live in.

And perhaps that's enough.

(If this sounds sentimental, I'll gladly accept the accusation.)

[colly-wobbles0]

Beyond its Order

I once came across a book whose pages were turned restlessly by an unruly wind, as though the wind itself mocked the story aloud. Yet within that book, each page bore a story of its own. They wanted to be released from the stern binding that held them together and compelled them to be read only in a single, ordained order. They fluttered faintly, gently whispering against one another, as if pleading to be understood not merely as fragments of a story, but as beings apart from it. Each page yearning to exist beyond the story it was ordered to carry.

[colly-wobbles0]

A withered tree stands mute upon the heath, its arms bereft of verdure and its heart made bare by autumn's choicest cruelty. Yet often a little bird, a green guest of many a summer, alights upon that naked limb. The leaves, very own, did rather yield themselves and fall than linger to cling. Still the bird comes perching where once shade and song were bound. A living witness to a tree that had lost its life, and to the strange fidelity of memory that will not leave.

Anna

[colly-wobbles0]

I theorize the pain from inside the scar, I explain the blade from the memory of its edge.

--Anna

[colly-wobbles0]

A friend of mine informed that he is being negatively affected by his "subconscious crush" getting married.

A SUBCONSCIOUS CRUSH.

You learn everyday Anna.

[colly-wobbles0]

Idk. The lines get blurred between admiration, infatuation and crush so maybe let's term this lack of knowledge for the love of a good night's sleep.

[colly-wobbles0]

I guess this time these fat clouds hold the promise of snow.🌨️

[colly-wobbles0]

My occassional brilliance leads me to places I am not entirely sure I want to be about.

[colly-wobbles0]

There was a small coin pouch in my room filled with loose change from days when I had no idea what to do with it. Just like that, college handed me moments I didn’t always know how to hold. Thoughts I couldn’t sort through quietly found a place deep in that pouch too. The table it rested on stood through it all sometimes spotless, sometimes in a kind of chaos that made sense only to me. It held late-night meals, scattered notes, a Llama Mug and laughter that made no sense the next morning. That table absorbed so many versions of me. And now, it's just…... standing there. And the window. That beautiful window. It was my escape when the world inside felt too tight. That view was my reminder that there was more to come, even while I learned to meet it on my own terms.

My roommate was my quiet constant. In that room, we rehearsed the courage to be ourselves sometimes unsure, sometimes reckless, but always real. And now, even as we part ways, a part of me will always sit cross-legged on that bed, talking about life that hadn’t happened yet, making plans we half-meant, and finding safety in shared confusion.

-Anna from Room 104

[colly-wobbles0]

With each month, my body bleeds in quiet mourning for the lost promise of life unrealized.

[colly-wobbles0]

Sometimes you feel like you can taste your own thoughts.

[colly-wobbles0]

To be, or not to be a museum of oneself. That is the question.

[colly-wobbles0]

Women are clumsy

"You are smart, but clumsy"

He said it with ease, a proud remark,

A casual remark tossed across the table,

heavy in its lightness, thoughtless in its weight.

Silence shared across the table.

And I wondered, why should it be a flaw?

Perfection is a brittle thing.

Yes, we are clumsy.

Clumsy in the way we balance a world

that never quite fits in our hands.

We have been shaped and reshaped,

mended only to be called something new.

A different name for every room we enter.

We spill, not from carelessness,

but from carrying more than what was ever ours to hold.

I have not fallen,

but you have already decided that I must.

And even if I had—

must we never stumble to be worth something?

Must we never falter to be strong?

So I rolled my eyes, bit back the words I longed to hurl,

And let silence settle between us

So yes, I am clumsy.

Clumsy in a world that hands me burdens,

then mocks me for stumbling.

~Anna

[colly-wobbles0]

Anna, are you a mountain or a beach person?

Mountain, always mountain

Why not?

I was born in their embrace,

have breathed their stories,

Here, in the mountains, less is more

No one laments what we lack;

We don’t dwell on the absence of opportunities because the richness of life here lies elsewhere

the silence is rich

the air pure

I despise the new buildings,

concrete scars on these towering giants

for fleeting peace sought by strangers

How can peace grow from destruction?

Why should the quest for peace come at the expense of the very thing that embodies it? Why must nature pay the price for human restlessness?

I could never describe with justice, I let myself hope

I hope for many more sunsets

I wish for more moments like this,

for the mountains to endure,

and for me to witness them always.

[colly-wobbles0]

Roommate gospel " in the world of cocktails, you were water".

This has to be a text sent to one's ex. 🩰🩰🩰🩰

[colly-wobbles0]

Early morning gospel by Kos " to be cringe is to be free" sets my day 🌤️