I like to write ghost stories filled with love. Feel free to reblog my writing and send me your own! — she/her • 20s — All original writing by yours truly
In the backwaters of rural Somewhere, there is a forgotten little cemetery on a hill so bright with leaves, the gravestones are silhouetted against it like an orange sunset.
A faded FOR SALE! sign clings to the front lawn of the house by the claws of a ragged shadow, growing dark and long with age. In the hour before sunset, it extends onto the street beyond, reaching into the town’s view for the briefest moment before it is swallowed up by night.
There are next-door neighbors who pass by it like this, switching to the other side of the street almost unconsciously on their evening strolls and last-minute errands. The shadow encourages their steps to pick up with their heartrates – there is something about the house that deflects gazes and ruminations just as a rainwater puddle shields itself with the gray sky it fell from. Thus, the townsfolk pass by the signage as if its text is not a call to them, but a fixture of the landscape.
A single tree towers adjacent to the sign – a proud pillar that once soared into the sky, but now coasts downward under heavy years of decayed leaves and neglect. This, too, graces the street with the barest stains of its presence, pressing up on the layers of pavement with its roots as if steadying a friend.
Creaking on the screened-in front porch is a wicker rocking chair, positioned to survey the overgrown lawn as its brown grass sprawls across the yard and darts through the cracked flagstone path.
The house is abandoned and always has been, insofar as reality is shaped by fleeting human attentions. Yet it retains a kind of permanency, subtler than grand skyscrapers that root themselves in the halls of history with thick walls and earthquake-proof foundations and competing heights. The house at 1923 Magnolia Avenue has the air of a long-exposure photograph, allowing its surroundings to turn to streaks of light and shadow as it sits, observing and remembering with equal placidity.
As the sun sinks low on the horizon, the grass rights itself like a dog shivering off flecks of soil. In the periphery of the town, the misty light plays tricks in the corners of eyes as they slide past it. Where the rocking chair lolled empty in the daylight, the golden hour catches on flecks of dust that mimic a grandmotherly presence leaning back to survey a gardening catalogue. The grass ruffles and through it bounds a child’s laughter, out the door and around the trunk of a proud fruit-tree. The breeze, carrying the faint air of an inviting kitchen and a fresh gooseberry pie, shifts through the tree’s branches and dusts it off lovingly. The shadows of the leaves shift on the pavement and the illusion flickers like candlelight.
It is an instinct for the house, an inescapable reversion to the familiar, its longing so powerful that it projects into every open mind.
But then the last ray of sun disappears beneath the ground, and these phantoms flicker away. The block settles, and numinous haze lifts from the town to make way for easy dinner conversation. As the sign’s shadow dissolves, the abandoned house drapes itself in darkness once again. The breeze grows icy once more, but in the solitude of night, summery air filters through the boards of the house in a deep exhale that settles over the empty yard and keeps its phantoms warm.
In the backwaters of rural Somewhere, there is a forgotten little cemetery on a hill so bright with leaves, the gravestones are silhouetted against it like an orange sunset.
hello!! i just wanna know how you started your blog, because i don't know how start one. Like I want to have my own style or aesthetic in expressing myself. Thank you, very much appreciated :)
This blog started a little less than a year ago because I had a ton of poetry written down in the notes app in my phone that I’d never planned on sharing. I barely had a decent font choice, much less an aesthetic or a direction. Something you should know about me is I’m a massive fan of planning, but nevertheless I find myself advocating for this. Directionlessness can be a remarkable thing.
The beauty of the internet - and tumblr in particular - is that it’s so easy to share without fear of judgement, something that I think not enough people take full advantage of. Go for it, create things that you connect with, and then smile when people tell you they connect with them too. If you’re not feeling it, don’t try to settle into a groove right off the bat, let yourself explore, and I think you’ll find a style you enjoy that’s natural and authentic to you.
here's a link to a carrd compiling ways you can support the black lives matter movement (made by twt user @dehyedration)
other than listing petitions, places to donate, and where to call/text, it also compiles resources such as threads debunking misinfo, education on black history, and information for protestors. it's being updated regularly
Figuratively But Literally @figurativelybutliterally - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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