lonely meadows

She/her - a space of tea, books, and writing

[lonelymeadows-writes]

We’re two girls who sneak out late to stargaze, but really you’re the only star I’ve got eyes on. We hook our ankles under tables and take turns sipping our milkshake from the same straw, as if we’re kissing through chocolate and ice cream. You paint my cheeks and I paint your nails careful stripes of colours. Someday I’ll run away with you, but for now I find shells to sneak into your pockets and stitch matching hearts into all of our hems.

[lonelymeadows-writes]

We are drenched in colours, born again under flags and songs and grit-teeth grins. We are people, loving and living as something self-made and extraordinary.

[lonelymeadows-writes]

The creature in the bog only ever sung at dusk; a low croon that harmonised with the frogs and the birds. I would sneak out to listen, and after some time I even sang along. Once, when the fog hovered over everything like a careful blanket draped over shoulders, I spotted him, a shape so strange I looked away again. The huntsman has told me not to approach the creature, tells me of all the people who have vanished into the bog, their skeletons appearing months later. I’m not scared of him, though. His voice has only ever sounded lonely, to me.

[lonelymeadows-writes]

It was pouring with rain; the water-slicked street narrow and gently curving down the hill. Either side was lined with shopfronts, squat buildings spilling light into the puddles. I clutched my umbrella tightly — i bought it for cheap at a convenience store. I’m a stranger in a strange place, and yet I have never felt more comfortable than I do exploring streets surrounded by people whose languages I have no hope of understanding. Nothing was expected of me, in that moment — I was utterly unknowable save for the rain, gently soaking the hems of my jeans.

[lonelymeadows-writes]

“Be careful of the faerie in the grove… his smiles are kind and his voices are warm, but I dunno, man. Have you noticed how the flowers you’re leaving for him keep rotting? And that bird on his shoulder — i know you think it’s sweet, but it keeps watching you, even when he looks away. Its eyes never left you, not once. No, I’m not being paranoid, just listen for second. It’s the middle of summer — why do the cicadas fall silent when we enter his clearing? Okay, fine, go visit without me then. See what I care. But I’m telling you man, that faerie is bad news. There’s something about him. It always smells like blood to me, when we visit.”

[ghostclvb]

I post for the bitches that used to get in trouble for reading under the desk during class in elementary school

[lonelymeadows-writes]

The dragon sleeps, a great thing wrought in crimson scale and ebony claw. The glint of gold piled lovingly glimmers in the warm glow of a dragon throat — the fire that sits there lit like a paper lantern, illuminating everything from within. The cave is warm, even cozy. You could curl under a wing and join the wyrm in slumber so easily. Even now, your eyes grow heavy. You came here to claim a prize that feels insignificant faced with the pleasant comfort of joining a dragon’s rest in the centre of their hoard.

Stay awhile. The dragon sleeps, and so could you.

[lonelymeadows-writes]

I was looking through photographs from the Artemis ii mission, and this one completely captured my heart… earth looks like a curious cat, or a shy child peering out from behind their parent’s legs. I want to kneel down and tell her, “hello dearest. It’s gonna be okay. We love you.”

[lonelymeadows-writes]

Item: The Prologue Rarity: ✦ Uncommon

What video game has the best opening scene or level?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

I think one of my favourite opening scenes is in Reanimal. The music, the mystery, the lighting, the charged emotion… i was immediately sucked into the story

[lonelymeadows-writes]

Item: A Bug Rarity: ⏶ Common

What's your favorite creature from any video game world?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

Definitely the Totem from monument valley!

[lonelymeadows-writes]

Two spaces, curled into the shadows of a moon, named for Carroll dearly departed, and for Integrity in a mission that captures in it humanity’s most wonderous form: curious and looking outward, while holding gently in our hands — or perhaps in the awed lens of a camera — the fragile beauty of home.

[lonelymeadows-writes]

You have been cold as of late

A lake for iceskating

Though I fear the

Surface may crack

If I linger too long

[lonelymeadows-writes]

We are unholy creatures

born knowing too much

we stare for too long,

our eyes never shut.

Mother,

we could tell you what happens

when you die

Mother—

we could tell you

when.

[lonelymeadows-writes]

Listening to a dnd podcast and realised I needed thematically appropriate tea

[lonelymeadows-writes]

A candle tongue does flame and flicker

Burning low but with breath darts quicker

A heart of gold hovers over pool of wax

Serenity’s picture, but quick to catch.

[lonelymeadows-writes]

Remember to keep sprinting and running and jumping and striving and racing and leaping and walking and crawling to better spaces and places. You can do this. The world is a big green field, and you are a big beautiful horse. Happy lunar new year <3

[lonelymeadows-writes]

There is water settled in our hearts; pooling in with the patience of inevitability. Or it drips, a steady beat from a crack in the ceiling. It echoes in that vast and empty space, a steady hum like rain and a rush like river. It fills the crevices and corners, long forgotten spaces becoming rediscovered and drowned.

With the water comes growth. Algae grows along the floors of our hearts, moss climbs up the walls. Reeds reach the surface of the water like trailing strands of hair. Our hearts fill, overgrown and underwater. These were empty spaces, once, with room to breathe. Now there is only room to drown, but it is no longer lonely, nor silent, and I search for fish in the depths. Someday, I might even find them.