a girl's secret tale

a story you aren’t ready

[codywaan]

Oh, golden boy, you shined a light on your home And at your best, you were magic, we were sold But don't tell 'em what you told me Don't even tell 'em that you know me I would rather burn forever

But you should know that I died slow Running through the halls of your haunted home And the toughest part is that we both know What happened to you Why you're out on your own Merry Christmas, please don't call

Just one ticket out of your heavy gaze I want one ticket off of your carousel

Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call - Bleachers

[urpatronous]

The spice of cinnamon ginger tea stays close to my stomach instead of the knife I could twist just to take out the scars. Gingerbread crumbs scattered on the blanket, a little mess of that no longer feels sweet. We only had one Christmas for you, yet every year we yearn for the Christmas light market night, holding hands, us under the warm night of December. Christmas comes around again, I am still thinking about the yellow rose bouquet you left on my doorstep. The church bells and the choir start bustling through the city, but none of it is enough to quiet my mind from the echo of your name.

I wish we had never read the last page or closed the book. But here we are, finally on the last page. When you squeezed my hand three times, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

There will be no cleaning glitter off the floor after Christmas dinner. There will be no jumping into that restaurant with the oddest name just because the decorations were enticing. There will be no dancing in the aisles of the supermarket. There will be no memories left to hold on to. There will be no us. There was never an us to begin with.

We’ve finally reached the last page of the last chapter. How desperately I wish there were more to read.

Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I can’t recognise anywhere.

I carry my shoes down to the lobby with empty hands to offer. Hands painted cold, pale blue from the bruises of memories I still hold of you.

Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I can’t recognise anywhere.

But we’re on the last page, and I’m lost and scared, and you’re turning away.

I know this is going to be a long road.

And you will become the stranger I can no longer recognise.

[urpatronous]

did you still celebrate the 25th of december? where the choir sings so loud and the street will get quiet, where someone always gets the lyrics wrong and everyone just nods like it’s fine.

maybe it rains there, maybe the road looks a little sad this time of year,  the tree must be dressed in green and red by now. The lights probably hit the wooden roof and make it look like a small feast for the old people who still love to dance.

The weather’s getting colder here, I curl up with hot chocolate and play that tiny christmas music box i love. My room feels a bit stuffy with all the ornaments i bought on sale,  i don’t even know why i bought that many. Maybe because it’s december.

I think i grew up a little, changed a little even the red i like isn’t bright anymore. it’s darker now…maybe maroon.

I don’t see you anymore. Idon’t hear about you either. But i’m sure you’re somewhere happier, somewhere soft.

I still remember your first christmas in summer how you jumped like a kid, how we sang carols even though we didn’t know the lyrics. I don’t know if you still celebrate it.

But every december, I hope some small part of you still remembers me.

[yibeimolihuacha]

Tyler's family basically just outfreaked Wednesday's family's freak

[plausible-possible-perhaps]

He got into a fight 💔

[munsonbee]

#Tyler “ You Didn’t Have to Do All of THAT ” Galpin

If evil, then why so Loverboy ??? 🤨

[xiaohuayaos]

I love Dongfang Qingcang pre realising he has his own organic feelings for Xiao Lanhua outside of the one heart curse so much. he's just like The only thing that ties that little flower spirit and I is the one heart curse, if it weren't for that I would HAPPILY have gotten rid of her and meanwhile he's saying that while carefully sweeping her up and carrying her to bed, tucking her in all comfy, making sure the blankets are pulled up tight, cutting the crusts off a sandwich just the way she likes it, absently doodling Mr Xiao Lanhua in his evil moon supreme planner and shit. 10/10 what a guy.

[lunchboxpoems]

CS LEWIS

[strechanadi]

Laetitia Pujol, Mathieu Ganio

Le chant de la terre

photo: Ann Ray

[septemberkisses]

— Carol Rifka Brunt in Tell The Wolves I'm Home

[starlightacademia]

one day you think: I want to die. and then you think, very quietly: actually. actually. I think I want a coffee. a nap. a sandwich. a book. and I want to die turns day by day into want to go home, I want to walk in the woods, I want to see my friend, I want to sit in the sun, I want a cleaner kitchen, I want a better job, I want to live somewhere else. I want to live.

- via duckbunny

[2am-jasper]

ink stained pages of those who know. Embers of letters continue to grow. A soft and sweet and kind hello. Written with care in the dark below. And when these feelings hit me like a blow, as least there’s something to show for all my woe. Passages and lyrics all with prose, slowly starting to overflow. Poems come to me like polar snow, covering everything and everyone and all those who know.

[trickstersaint]

an aromantic person is someone who (fill in the blank here) // april 10 2024

[soracities]

“Run upstairs! There you will be healed, there you will be fed full of sumptuous happiness, and once you’re satiated, you will slumber evenly and snore to an organized beat—can you not hear this great symphony of snores? You funny ciphers: they want to liberate you of the torturously gnawing question marks that wriggle like worms … But you’re standing here and listening to me instead. Go quickly upstairs—to the Great Operation! What does it matter to you that I stay here alone? What does it matter to you if I don’t want them to want things for me—if I want to want things for myself—if I want the impossible…?”

— Yevgeny Zamyatin, We (trans. Natasha Randall)

[wordedarchive]

escapril day 13: purr

[petaltexturedskies]

The tender, unearthly magic of the Spring has crept into my heart. I hear the song of birds, I smell new odors, see new colorings, and the softness of the air melts me. And I feel. Oh, God, how deeply I feel, and grieve and rejoice. More than ever in my life before, more than all I felt during childhood, and that was a great deal, more than all I felt during girlhood, which I thought nothing could surpass; I stand on the threshold of the world itself, and a new life has taken hold of me.

Anaïs Nin, The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1920-23

[petaltexturedskies]

Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin vol. I: 1931-1934