#uncertain future

[escuerzoresucitado]

[loreleiloon]

Her Roots Run with Blood (pt. 3)

<<<< ++++ >>>> Lisl had churned two quarts of butter when Kurt came back for his Sunday shirt.

“Put that aside, child, you can finish it later,” he told her.

Confused, Lisl paused. “But Mother wants to send some to Schullen with the market cart.”

“There is time later. Come. And put on your shawl.”

Lisl’s heart sank. Her father wanted her to talk to Jorgensen, of course. He would probably take the long way back from church just to stop by the Jorgensen farm.

Lisl had nothing against the lad. She simply found it hard to believe she would be marrying him. She had never given much thought of marrying anyone, really. Deep down, she hated that she hadn’t.

“Must I, Father?” she said quietly.

He sighed. The ordeal seemed just as wearying for him as it did for her.

“Yes, your mother asked me to bring you along. We’ve forestalled these things long enough.” Because of Magnus. But neither Alma nor Kurt would ever admit it. Perhaps grief couldn't keep Lisl young forever after all.

Lisl glanced at the churned butter and frowned. Her hard work hadn’t been needed, then. So be it.

Sighing, she took her Sunday shawl from its peg and followed her father outside. Though spring neared its end, the wind still held an occasional bite. Lisl tucked her shawl closer around herself. Its red tassles were nearly faded from use and the fold line might as well have been a seam.

Kurt wasted no time. While he would commonly pause to speak with other villagers, today he greeted them briefly or simply nodded as he passed. Lisl could only force a smile when greeted. She felt terrible about it, but she had to keep pace with Kurt. And honestly, she would not have been much cheerful company today anyway. If only their fathers might hold this meeting in the woods. Perhaps she would feel calmer there. She tried to grasp that feeling from last night, the soul of the forest, but it seemed just out of reach. The closer they came to the church, the farther last night's quiet seemed to be.

Arriving at the village church, they entered the small structure and Lisl saw her fears justified. Ernst Jorgensen and his father sat in the front pew.

“I’ll wait outside,” she whispered hurriedly to her father.

He steadied her arm. “No, Lisl, stay and pray with him.”

He guided her to the front pew, and Lisl’s heart pounded in her ears. In two weeks time, he would lead her down aisle again...

Jorgensen stood up and stepped outside the pew. He smiled warmly at Lisl, as if she was already wed to his Ernst. Kurt left Lisl to awkwardly sit beside the youth, and the two men disappeared beyond the sacristy door. After a few minutes muffled voices could be heard conferring. But those small snatches of sound did little to alleviate the awkward silence.

At length, Lisl knelt and bowed her head. She tried to think of a prayer but the mental image of Ernst's uncertain face chased away all prayers from her head. She could at least seem to be praying.

“You look nervous.”

Lisl sighed. “Maybe.”

“Me too.”

She glanced back, “Really?”

Ernst shrugged, “It seems sudden, this wedding talk. I didn’t think they’d be thinking about it now, what with the spring coming late and all. I suppose they want us settled before anything happens to them.”

Lisl shifted on her knees. None of their parents were old.

“I wish I knew what they were worried about,” she said, “I overheard Father say that there are less good trees to fell. But he said it strangely, like it wasn’t because the rest were already cut down.”

Ernst grunted, “Our goats are anxious for the new grass to grow in. There’s not enough to go around as it is. We lost Trishna and Elsbet this past month. They were carrying.” She heard how low and steady his voice fell, the same way her father's did when in grief. Slowly, she settled back on the bench beside him. "And...their babies?" "We saved Trishna's," he said. "A boy. We named him Olgo. He's got a star on his forehead," he forced a smile, "Perhaps it's a good omen."

"Perhaps it is," Lisl clasped her hands. “Let’s hope the summer brings better tidings. But the sun is growing warmer and the flowers are already returning on the foothills--”

“I don’t know how well I can do by you, if I’m honest,” Ernst interrupted, looking down at his feet.

The air fell silent.

“...I don’t need much,” Lisl said.

“I don’t either.”

Quiet again.

“Is...is there someone else--?”

He shrugged. “No.”

“Ernst, if there is, don’t feel that you have to please my parents,” Lisl said emphatically. “I would not be hurt. I promise.”

“No, it’s not like that, fräulein,” he rubbed his forehead, “I didn’t think anyone--well, I’m not the handsome type, you know? Mother always told me my horrid nose would scare off any woman, pretty or ugly. I suppise I believed her.”

Lisl frowned, “She’s one to talk. It’s her nose she gave you.”

Ernst chuckled, a rumbling, endearing sound. “You like it, though?”

“A nose is a nose,” she shrugged, “I can promise I wouldn’t like it if you didn’t have one.”

He chuckled again. Then he grew thoughtful.

“Would you find it contented? Raising goats? Would you like that?”

Her smile froze. She saw the endless mountainside, its slopes forever unchanging. She imagined the towns that would grow in the valley, the market cart gone for perhaps a month at a time. And all the while she would mind the goats and tend to her house. while the fingers of the forest dug deeper into Gernt's heart.

“It’s a peaceful life,” she said at last. “What more could I want?”

Ernst seemed to relax. “I’m happy here, too. And I know our children will be happy.”

Their children. She had nearly forgotten that bit of marriage. Perhaps she had wanted to forget.

“Yes. They will,” she nodded with forced cheer, “and we’ll teach them everything. You’ll teach the them to herd the goats. I’ll teach them to mind the house, make bread, churn butte--” she gave an audible gasp, “Oh no! Mother told me to churn the butter for the market cart! I forgot all about it!”

She quickly stepped from the pew, “I’m so sorry, Ernst, but Mother will be so upset if I don’t hurry.”

He assured her he understood and with effusive gratitude and apologies, Lisl turned and hurried out of the church.

On the way out, she bumped into a lithe young blonde.

"Ow! Do you mind?"

Lisl was so distracted, it took a moment before she recognized her young cousin.

"Agathe! Oh thank all things good, please go inside for me. I can't explain now, but I've left Ernst and he needs the company terribly. Please do this for me."

"Ernst Jorgensen?" Agathe echoed, but her annoyance seemed softened, "Yes, yes, of course I can--but wait! Where are you going?"

"Thank you, Agathe!" Lisl called over her shoulder as she hurried away from the church.

She didn’t go home. She knew Kurt would scold her once he returned. And she dreaded her mother’s expectant questions and praise about Ernst.

Ducking behind the smithy, Lisl darted for the woods.

She needed to be alone with her thoughts. She needed the quiet to return.

The noontide sun shone brightly on the trees. Usually Lisl would only go about a row deep into the woods, as she enjoyed the sunlight and could better appreciate the view below. But today she didn’t want to see the valley, so she pressed onwards. Two rows, three rows, five.

At length she stopped ten rows in. She could still see the forest’s edge, and the boughs overhead did not block out all the sunlight. Finding a twisted elm tree, Lisl settled on its roots.

Her mind was in turmoil. Jorgensen seemed more content to marry her now; and while she tried to remind herself all the reasons why this marriage would benefit her, every reason turned stale as she thought of it.

Lisl shook her head. Even if she wanted to ask her parents to wait, they would argue otherwise. Especially if both Jorgensen and his father wanted the ceremony to go forward...if her parents needed her wedding to bring them some joy again...

Lisl leaned back against the elm. She couldn’t think of these dreary thoughts anymore. Closing her eyes, she thought of the far mountains beyond the edge of the sunrise. Where everything was beautiful and dreams came to life. Breshka hardly mentioned them in her bleak tales--especially now that Lisl was older--but whenever she did, Lisl had clung to every word.

She imagined herself running along their peaks; where no snow ever fell, where flowers grew again after one picked them and the fruit trees were never barren. She could almost hear the wind beckoning to her like a gentle song.

As her heart danced with the breezes, an overwhelming longing stabbed her chest. If only she could find such a place! A place of peace and belonging! It had to exist for her somewhere out there.

But deep down, she knew the far mountains were no more real than the haunted roots that buried travelers alive or the talking gremlins who ate the souls of wayward children.

It’s too good to be true, she told herself. Besides, if those mountains were real... wouldn’t everything else be too? Even the horrid things?

A cool breeze whipped through the trees, carrying the phantom whispers of mountain shadows. Lisl shivered, stirring in her weightless state. Then she became aware of the sound of breathing. Heavy and labored, it seemed near her, almost above her.

Alarmed, Lisl tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt too heavy. She must have dozed off. She shifted and moaned, trying to push her mind into consciousness. Her body moved sluggishly, as if weighed down.

In the midst of her struggles, she heard the breathing fade away. Tensing, she waited. No sound broke the stillness. The forest seemed quiet.

She made another, weaker effort to wake herself, but the strain took too much. Lisl relaxed her body against the roots, already exhausted from her trying. Unbroken darkness lulled her back to a stupor. She sensed her mind sinking, surrendering sweetly as the darkness drew her in.

For a moment, she was weightless, free from her fear. For one blessed moment.

Then, a cold hand stroked her cheek.

Wake up.

[timetravelsong]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐈 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫?

excerpts from a book I’ll never write

[thenormityofdesire]

The Weight of Wonder

There are nights when I lie awake in my room and feel as though the entire world exists somewhere far beyond my reach. I stare at the ceiling, at the shadows on my walls, at the small details I have memorized over the years, and I wonder if everyone else feels this way too. This strange mixture of loneliness, curiosity, and hope. Sometimes it feels impossible to believe that life is only what we see in front of us every day. School, routines, conversations, expectations. It all feels too small to explain the enormity of being alive.

I have always been someone who searches for meaning in everything. In music, in the sky at night, in the way certain memories stay with me long after they should have faded. There are moments that seem insignificant to everyone else but feel monumental to me: hearing a song at exactly the right time, watching sunlight move across my bedroom floor, or having a conversation that changes the way I think for days afterward. Those moments make me feel connected to something larger than myself, even if I cannot explain what that “something” is.

I used to believe that growing older would make life easier to understand. I thought adulthood came with certainty, with answers, with some kind of clarity about who you are supposed to become. Instead, the older I get, the more I realize how little anyone truly knows. People walk through life carrying invisible fears and questions, trying desperately to appear certain while silently searching for reassurance themselves. In a strange way, realizing this has made me feel less alone.

Sometimes I think that is why people cling so desperately to religion, love, ambition, or even other people. They need something to convince themselves that all of this means more than it probably does. And maybe they are right to. Because without something to hold onto, life can start to feel unbearably hollow. Days pass so quickly that they almost blur together, and before you realize it, entire parts of your life exist only as distant memories that no longer feel real. There is a kind of beauty in not fully understanding the world. I think that uncertainty is what pushes people to create art, fall in love, believe in something greater, or simply keep going even during difficult times.

I do not know what I believe in. I wish I did. I wish I could say that I am certain there is something greater waiting beyond all of this, something that makes suffering and loneliness meaningful. But most of the time, I cannot convince myself of that. Most of the time, I just feel aware of how temporary everything is. Relationships end, people change, memories fade, and even the moments that once felt life-changing eventually lose their intensity. I know there is something deeply human about wanting to understand our existence.

Maybe that is the hardest part of growing up. Realizing that nothing stays untouched forever. Not people, not feelings, not even the version of yourself you thought would always exist. There are still moments when I look at the sky or listen to a song and feel something close to wonder, but even then, there is always a quiet emptiness underneath it. Like no matter how beautiful something is, it will eventually disappear, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

And maybe that is all life really is: searching endlessly for meaning while slowly realizing you may never find it.

[toexistwithin]

[love-others-despite-differences]

In times of uncertainty, run to Jesus, for he is the calm that quiets the storm and the shelter for the weary

[boymanmaletheshequel]

With the beggining of this presidency, Times are uncertain for the future of Queer Americans, Palestinians, Australians, and many others as usual. Be proud of who you are and don’t you dare let fascism or intolerance control you! Embrace your queer gods, channel them, allow them to fill and love you! To fight with you. Dionysus, Aphrodite, Artemis, Apollo, Pan, Hermes, these are just a few of the Hellenic deities who are queer or some form of LGBTQIA! Your gods are you, and you are them. Embrace that, and don’t stop fighting! 💙🏛️

[painfullyaverage-1973]

The Weight of Knowing

He thought the pain had a reasonable explanation—

night work,

steel-cold wind slicing through layers,

the kind of cold that settles into bone

and refuses to leave.

Migraines had always been part of him,

an old tenant living rent-free behind his eyes.

But lately they arrived heavier,

dragging blurred edges behind them,

turning faces into smudged watercolor,

letters into ghosts that wouldn’t hold still.

Depression already lived there too,

a low ceiling he’d learned to walk beneath,

head down, shoulders curved,

making peace with gray days

and the quiet work of surviving them.

His wife noticed before he admitted it.

The way he squinted at the world.

The way pain lingered longer than it should.

The way he went silent after the headaches passed,

as if something else had stayed behind.

“See a doctor,” she said—

not a command,

but fear carefully folded into love.

The MRI room was cold,

a different kind of cold,

sterile and humming,

the sound of a machine that sees

what men try not to.

The image came up fast.

Too fast.

No gentle prelude.

Astrocytoma.

Left vmPFC.

Four… maybe five centimeters.

A mass with a name,

a size,

a location frighteningly close

to who he was—

judgment, emotion, restraint,

the fragile circuitry of self.

Depression suddenly rearranged itself,

no longer a fog but a weight,

pressing harder now that it had a rival.

The future cracked open in front of him—

appointments,

words like resection and prognosis,

a calendar rewritten in pencil

because ink felt too confident.

He wondered what parts of him

might be altered,

what pieces might not come back intact.

If sadness would deepen,

or if something worse—

something emptier—

might replace it.

The migraines pulsed quietly in the background,

as if offended they were no longer the main threat.

Blurred vision lingered,

a cruel metaphor he couldn’t ignore.

He looked at his wife

and tried to memorize her face

in perfect focus.

Depression whispered its familiar lies,

but now fear spoke louder,

and hope—thin, stubborn, bruised—

stood trembling between them.

The future didn’t feel long.

It felt heavy.

Dense.

Like something growing where it didn’t belong,

demanding to be acknowledged,

whether he was ready

or not.