#thdl writing

[thehopedieslast]

20. Another line tallied. Another tick towards my inevitable expiry—and yet, even through my daily afflictions, life has never buzzed so brightly beneath my skin. Over the last month, I’ve had this reoccurring thought: is this how it feels to truly be alive? As if, for the first time, I’m coming into alignment with my body and mind, and the natural world around me. The breaths I take are lungfuls of vitality. The shallow, measured pants I’d once known now a distant ache behind my ribs.

There is still work to be done—and isn’t that exciting? That you and I will spend our entire lives doing it? There are many times I navigate the world like a bleary-eyed fawn on gangly legs. There are so many lives waiting for me to live, but like anything done well, it’ll take time. When I gaze into the cosmos, I am finally sure there’s a star with my name. The Earth—a bloom waiting for my fingers to pluck. A path already plowed for me in the loam of humanity, so long as I tread with discernment, fortitude, and grace.

Here’s to a new beginning and many more marvelous Mays, my loves. 🌻

[thehopedieslast]

do i want to ensnare myself, again, in the whirlwind that is you? foolishly discard the respect i’ve learned to have for myself to experience the gale just one more time.

just one more time—and how many times have i told myself that? wishing fruitlessly that i could be granted another moment in your storm, and now here it is, banking the shore without warning.

my life is a disorder i glamorize, so it’s no wonder you fit right in. just another tempest to be endured. and when it passes, like all things do, there will be nothing but desecration left in your wake.

i thought i was so sure of myself. how cruel. how cruel you are to make me question everything again.

[thehopedieslast]

On a Phantom Sea of Reverie

On a steady boat by reverie’s frame,

I’m carried out to a glittering sea.

Here, I cast my inhibitions.

Here, I cast my troubles.

Here, I cast my thoughts.

All—away, away, away.

All—into the starry depths below—

for she knows what it means to surround, and yet still remain alone.

On a steady boat by reverie’s frame,

the dip and sway is an ancient trip.

Such soporific tides embrace my soul,

Mariana-deep.

All—wane, wane, wane.

All—until the gentle brushstrokes of the She grant release, and I know not my name.

On a steady boat by reverie’s frame,

the growing coast is my sole refrain.

[thehopedieslast]

The unique intimacy of an earring getting caught in another’s hair.

I've been thinking about this for the last eight days.

Recently, I ran into an old friend in the midst of me searching through ancient, dusty shelves for books that weren't the seemingly endless abundance of southern period pieces the library housed—the bitter consequences of lack of funding and censorship has reached my little ashen town.

She recognized me immediately, as did I—with a beaming smile as a wave of fond memories came rushing back. We caught up, chatted about our lives and new experiences, and reminisced of golden moments. It went smoothly. Talking with her was as effortless as it had always been.

And acting upon the privilege of the closeness that we once shared, she went in for a hug goodbye.

Suddenly, something snagged. She was caught. l, equally arrested.

Exactly like I was all those years ago. Except, the tables had turned.

The culprit was some dangly, intricate silver thing, reeling me in. Fitting for her twee style. Perfect for binding us together. I admit my curls had played a role too, stubbornly winding through the apertures of her earring. I could feel her warm, sheepish laughter in soft bursts against my cheek, the heat radiating from her hands where she reached to untangle us.

For a few breathless moments, there we were— apologies sweetened by hushed giggles, clothes brushing as she carefully tried to pry the earring free from my tendrils' grasp, all while embraced by literature older than the sum of us—seized in an anecdote of our own.

A unique intimacy, it was. Such an intimacy that either paralyzes or provokes. An intimacy that surely demands patience, understanding, and care. It was the very foundation that had once pillared us.

Then, untethered. The soft spell broken. The cold made pronounced by the absence of her warmth.

And we went our separate ways again.