sapph

[museforsappho]

[museforsappho]

[museforsappho]

the truth is i still find myself speaking your name sometimes. the place where my language for love was shaped; the origin of my caution and my care. the truth also is that maybe because i didn’t know how to protect my own boundaries, what we had became the most destructive thing i ever called a loving relationship. but finally i’m lucky to know that we can exist in silence; be carried by the quiet and respecting each other.

[museforsappho]

Remember: Sometimes it's not that deep.

[museforsappho]

Well I guess today’s a day I find myself missing you.

[museforsappho]

Do your hands still look the same?

[museforsappho]

[museforsappho]

[museforsappho]

[museforsappho]

Sicilian Garden

It feels like another time. As if I’m living in your favorite novel. I wander through the Sicilian garden, surrounded by statues and replicas from a bygone era. Flowers, bushes, and shrubs bloom mystically in the hazy weather, vines twisting around the rotunda, drawing strength from the damp earth. I am entirely with myself—or rather, within myself. Lost in my imagination. I carry you with me, a fragrance blotter stained with your scent. When I close my eyes, I feel your presence beside me. For a fleeting moment, we wander together through the dreamy garden, as if time itself has unraveled. We hide, we run through the labyrinthine paths, the twists and turns pulling me deeper as I follow you. In an overgrown dead end, I catch you—pull you close. Your face, your long, shining hair caught in my hands. Our lips meet slowly, and everything around us melts into desperate longing. Hot breaths on deceptive dreams.

[museforsappho]

The confusion after dreaming seeps into the day, a fog that lingers like a silent, weary veil draped over the hours.

[museforsappho]

Have we ever asked what it does to the muse?