embrace the unknown

because there's too many words to get out (oh look, a new blog!) main: @smol-stardust

[themoondustfaerie]

ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ꜱᴛᴜᴍʙʟᴇᴅ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴜɴɢ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ.

ᴀ ᴜɴɪ ꜱᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ ʙʏ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ'ꜱ ɢʟᴏᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰᴛᴇɴ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ'ꜱ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ.

ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ɪ'ᴍ ᴅʀᴀᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ɪ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏꜰᴛᴇɴ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɴᴏᴛ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴇxᴄʟᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴘᴀᴄᴇ ɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴘɪɴ ɪɴ ᴄɪʀᴄʟᴇꜱ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ, ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴇᴛ ꜰʀᴇᴇ—ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇʏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄᴜʟᴀʀ.

ꜱᴛɪʟʟ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɪɴᴄʟɪɴᴇᴅ, ꜱᴛᴀʏ, ꜱɪᴘ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴇᴀ, ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴᴅꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴡʀᴀᴘ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜᴘ.

ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ ꜱʜɪɴᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴜꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ.

Tags:

#☪︎moon.musings -> for misc thoughts

#☪︎moondusted.words -> poems/prose

#☪︎moon.stories -> short stories

#☪︎self.rb -> stuff from my other blog

☪︎ if you would like to and are able to support my writing, you can find me on ko-fi

[themoondustfaerie]

If affection had a natural history, I’d pin it beneath glass, Latin name in careful handwriting, only to discover it escaped between observation and conclusion

[themoondustfaerie]

I have watched you collect mornings like receipts. Evidence that they happened, not proof that you were ever inside them.

[themoondustfaerie]

There are people who become landmarks. Not because they are easy to find, but because every route is eventually described in relation to them.

[themoondustfaerie]

Summer never knocks.

It spills through open windows, leaves its shoes by the back door, and fills the house with the scent of cut grass and peaches bruising on the counter.

The days stretch themselves thin, golden as honey drawn from the comb, refusing to end until the sky has exhausted every shade of blue.

Children collect hours like seashells, certain there will always be another tide.

Crickets begin their patient orchestra. The lake folds the sunset into quiet ripples. Fireflies stitch small constellations into the breathing dark.

Then, almost unnoticed,

the evenings arrive a little earlier, the wind learns a cooler language, and the sun, once impossible to lose, slips beneath the trees without asking permission.

Summer leaves the way a favorite song ends.

Not suddenly.

Just softly enough that you don’t realize you’re already missing it.

[themoondustfaerie]

I think that’s why I like you.

Not because you’re fearless.

Because fear became another variable to account for.

[themoondustfaerie]

There is a particular loneliness

in believing that if you can simply predict enough disasters,

the universe will eventually grow tired of surprising you.

[themoondustfaerie]

love letter status:

addressed to someone who may or may not exist yet

postage pending

[themoondustfaerie]

if there are other timelines i hope one of them remembers to introduce us properly

[llovinghome]

[svndvn]

drew this when I was severely sleep deprived

[themoondustfaerie]

Angels are easy to miss. They do not have wings, only scraped knees, open hands, and the dangerous habit of believing what they are told.

Sometimes they die without their body ever following. Sometimes they simply grow teeth.

The piranhas wear the same face. Older. They know which promises dissolve in water, which doors never open, which prayers return unopened.

They should have warned the angel. Should have taught them that kindness is not armor, that monsters seldom introduce themselves.

Instead, they watched the river darken and called it growing up.

So now they swim together, one ghost, one survivor.

The angel still reaching for the light.

The piranha still tasting the blood of the child

[themoondustfaerie]

Endosymbiosis

Once, survival was a solitary language. Then one cell opened itself to another, not as conqueror or captive, but as possibility. What began as an act of coexistence became inheritance. The guest stayed, the host changed, and together they learned a new way to exist.

Even now, every breath carries the memory of that ancient agreement. Our cells still cradle the descendants of those first companions, quiet architects turning oxygen into life. Evolution did not always advance by winning. Sometimes it advanced by making room.

Perhaps that is the oldest truth hidden in us: that becoming more does not always mean becoming alone.

[koiagain]

museum date but i spend the whole time crying over the concept of history and time

[evenlyevi]

Home.

[themoondustfaerie]

Qualia

There is a color that exists only at the exact moment it reaches me.

Not red, not blue, but the private weather of seeing.

You could borrow my eyes, trace every neuron like rivers on a map, name each current with impossible precision,

and still miss the small interior bloom that opens when sunset stains an ordinary wall.

This is the country language cannot annex.

The sting of mint. The velvet ache of remembering a voice before the words arrive.

The first second after rain when the world smells older than memory.

Qualia: the singular grammar of experience.

A museum where every exhibit disappears the instant it is shared.

We spend our lives pointing at invisible constellations.

You say gold. I nod.

Between us, an entire universe remains untranslated,

yet somehow,

we keep finding the same dawn, the same bitterness in coffee, the same impossible softness in the hand that reaches back.

Perhaps consciousness is not a window,

but millions of lanterns burning behind closed curtains,

each flame certain it has illuminated the whole night,

each one quietly lighting only itself.

[themoondustfaerie]

You are the sort of person

who folds maps along old creases,

trusting strangers you’ll never meet

to have known the shortest road home.