mournfully yours

letters they’ll never read. written in longing, sealed in wrath.

[mournfullyyours]

welcome to mournfullyyours.

messages sent to poets, saints, boys who disappeared mid-eye contact, and mythologies i made prettier than they were. no replies expected. all feelings archived.

✉ letters unsent 🎧 voice messages from the crypt 📖 emotional footnotes 📮 submit your grief 👻 meet the ghost writer

(a little cursed. a little hot. very online.)

[mournfullyyours]

written letter to victor frankenstein: you built a man from corpses and couldn’t handle the emotional consequences

written during an ethically questionable lightning storm | recovered from a pile of letters you ignored | contents: abandonment, scientific delusion, avoidant parenting

victor, you really looked at your homemade creature and said: “not my problem.” and then ran away like you hadn’t just invented abandonment issues in human form.

you wanted the glory of creation but none of the accountability. you wanted to play god and then got surprised when your creation had feelings.

you didn’t raise a monster. you raised a mirror and flinched when it reflected you.

you wrote whole chapters about how hard this was for you. meanwhile, your creation was out here learning language and rejection at the same time.

you didn’t need a laboratory. you needed to apologize. and maybe some parenting books.

sincerely, the girl who would’ve raised your creature better and never let him read milton unsupervised

[mournfullyyours]

i looked divine in grief, and that was the problem.

[mournfullyyours]

written letter to poe: your love letters were just horror stories with a crush

recorded in a haunted parlor at 2:22am | file recovered from under the floorboards of your unresolved grief | contents: romantic decay, ambient doom, weird vibes and weirder metaphors.

edgar, you didn’t write poetry. you wrote emotional taxidermy.

you fell in love and immediately imagined her dead just so you could write about how tragic it was.

every woman you loved became a ghost with perfect hair. you never let any of them live long enough to disappoint you.

you called it gothic. i call it projection.

you said nevermore, but you meant “i will absolutely spiral if she leaves me.”

your idea of romance was a damp room, a dead wife, and the sound of your own voice echoing through rot.

sincerely, the girl who would’ve faked her death just to get some peace

[mournfullyyours]

Audio letter 001

to: mary shelley (the girl who wrote grief into a body)

status: recovered voicemail fragment

date recovered: undated

contents classified: literary resurrection, romantic contamination, archival intimacy

[ghostlog_0415_audio.wav]

[grief rendered as fiction. playback corrupted.]

click here to listen

best heard with headphones. probably cursed.