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@verglase
𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 [ ... ] 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐂𝐄 ⁽ ¹ ⁾ . . . ( an independent & private writing blog for ELSA OF ARENDELLE, from the frozen franchise, as (lovingly) interpreted by effie— ) . . . still, she was 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆.
RULES + INFO. AESTHETIC SIDEBLOG. PINTEREST.
𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐙𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐀,
𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴𝚂 𝙷𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚈 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚈. while in her own courts she is a figure of light and fury, a beacon of sacred hope, here she resembles that of a child: in an instant, anxieties slide up her spine like an insect. in an instant, she feels small and unimportant. she relishes in this, this aching of nothingness, allowing for it to soak into her skin –– to the bone. { how much i ache … how terribly my duties reign … } the path of the forest has been deviated from, her new way smudged with brown pools of mud from the night’s rain. she is careful not to ruin her shoes, both her skirt and a small wicker basket gathered in her hands, delicacy and grace in her movement. finally, the clearing is reached, and she allows for herself to sigh.
❝ you must forgive me for being late. ❞ alongside a short curtsy, the words flitter from her lips in a huff of air. an adoration, of sorts, spreads her mouth to a smile. with a short pause, zelda walks forwards. ❝ i brought you a gift from my home, a sign of my appreciation. ❞ // @verglase
HARK, SAYS THE FOREST! —here the rustling greensward and the whistling breeze stir in canorous heraldry, twin tiding - bearers in this demesne where she holds court. autumnal jaundice is in egress posthaste, having tarried too long; in its inclement wake, it bequeaths mire - pools & petiole cadavers, brittle and scarletting. a funereal cortège of portents, altogether proclaiming: HERE COMES SHE, that wayfaring youngling. . . ( elsa [of a midwinter yet nascent,] finds herself donning a strange sort of tangibility— her pseudoskin belied by a smile unfeigned. she, too, advances, paying due (fond!) assiduity to this little pilgrim.
into corporeality, the arcane. . . ) ❛❛ nonsense, there must be no apologies between us, ❜❜ & the wrist oscillates in concurrence, before motioning toward a walkway unmarred by yesternight’s torrent, ❛❛ and you know that if there is anything i’ve far too much of, it is time. ❜❜ her smile edges slantwise. ❛❛ come, now— we will enjoy your gifts together, and you will tell me all about how you & your kingdom have been faring. ❜❜
𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐘𝐑,
MAYBE THEY’VE BOTH BEEN SUFFOCATED by an affliction likened to a pressurized melancholic stagnance . elsa’s quietude only caused wane limbs to tense . & for a being typically comforted by the silences between sentences ashen felt no solace . ( faithless , but not godless . THOSE CACOPHONIC , dissonant murmurs were like that of gnawing madness . ) neither a puppet but their strings were beginning to show . limbs pulled taut , unearthly chill gnawing at the space between bones ; causing an ageless ache . immortality more the curse than the remedy . an ailment that had no known cure , as it was a montonamous eternity that they’d continue to endure . while one’s mind withered , the other’s body would find rotfeed in eldritch ichor .
ears perk up at winter’s intonation , like a brush of cool-air kissing freckled cheek . ivories gritting at the inside of their cheek , nervous worry . an anxious , nauseating affliction … just as elsa had fallen away from who she was , ashen lacked the opportunity of self - exploration . a reflection was just that ; an image , but what was compiled within was a series of thoughts , memories and experiences . without all of that , you have a disassociation .
“ — you are no wraith haunting me . . you have a name , elsa . ” ebony donned reaper raises sanguine gaze to hold those of crystalline intensity . imploring the other to separate herself from ghastly apparition that threatened to recreate itself in forest spirit’s dermis . prosthetic upturned ; offering their hand for comfort . “ in time , perhaps you’ll remember . and if not , you have the chance to recreate yourself . be whoever you want , and do whatever it is you want to do . ” a beat , debating whether or not to say what was lingering on their tongue . “ — and if you’ll have me , i’ll be right here with you . ”
I AM CHRISTENED CORPOREAL; that is, by the wonder - awe of having been seen, she is re - substantiated. ( what tragedians had written them, that, so far overtaken by perfidy, had enthroned them both upon promontories of foreverness and bestowed agony in droves? —this is the price of the ever - life, levied on the unwitting / unwilling[?], & too long have i endured. ) the existence momentarily dulcified, the discarnate soul relieved of its age - old phantasm… for the first time [in too long a time], her lungs feel febrile, like twin neonates that augur the nurturing of certain sensibilities. ( THAT WHICH WE CALL HOPE, beautiful and infantile and all the more terrifying for it. ) and so the ribs: ossein cages to preclude needless maudlin, caution sewn into the marrow by needle - years. gorge not on saccharine, they seem to say, for you have not a body with which to hold it.
corporeality staved off in a most valiant effort— ❛❛ is a name truly a name if nobody ever seeks to say it? ❜❜ arid humor cleaves her mouth, verglas eyes playing at pacific resignation. ❛❛ i have been too many women over the years… who’s to say that ELSA is not among the skins i’ve worn and shed without flinching? ❜❜ [ A BEAT. ] the chest cavity summons some staccato solemnity…
BUT OH, ) caution is a pyrrhic battle against the puissance of an outstretched hand, that full - hearted assiduity benevolently weaponized. ❛❛ you will be with me, ❜❜ she tries, tasting saccharine & succor in the declarative, ❛❛ all right. ❜❜ the fingers, long rendered impliable, in transfiguration: little ivory pinions with their own fluttering pulses, now in flight, now reaching— ❛❛ but… you must understand that you could very well be going into a… into what could be a great disappointment. i cannot oblige you to see this through. ❜❜
𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐐,
WITHERED SPRINGㅤ/ㅤWEEPING FLORA .ㅤshe has long forgotten love's warmth .ㅤher chest has became a hollow cathedral for those she once held so close her thorns ripped the skinㅤ&ㅤmade them bleed ,ㅤa graveyard full of ghostsㅤ&ㅤdangerous things that remain dormant within her .ㅤcreator of her own hauntingㅤ;ㅤshe reaches out for a light that is always too far from the tip of sylph - limbs ,ㅤtoo blind to realize herself is a shadow chained to ruins ,ㅤeroded wristsㅤ/ㅤweaneked anklesㅤ(ㅤit's a void .ㅤthe more she fills it with prideㅤ&ㅤarsenic the bigger it gets ,ㅤravenous ,ㅤwilder ————ㅤ) .ㅤ“ㅤ—————what did you choseㅤ?ㅤ”ㅤa solemn movement causes the chin to rotate in winter's direction ,ㅤthe echo of a pleadge resouning inside the deepest of blue . ㅤthere is a butterfly trapped on her throat ,ㅤwings flapping in dispair trying to escape from its flesh cageㅤ(ㅤisn't that her ,ㅤafter allㅤ?ㅤ) . ㅤ“ㅤto feel lessㅤ?ㅤor to loveㅤ————ㅤother thingsㅤ?ㅤ”
HM; HOW TO PAINT THE SELF AS A CHARNEL HOUSE? —her tongue ties itself every which way, a gordian knot of fanciful elucidations that do no more than euphemize the sepulchral second skin, where all the winter - dead find eternal repose. & too - long attrited, elsa has learned to settle into a selfhood whose only permanence is ephemera, and how can love thrive in the eternally moribund? [ the vernal promise, all its dulce and affection, felled by whitewash pulchritude. . . ] how to say— I AM WHERE SPRINGTIDE COMES TO DIE? hm. ( rumination is, by rote, onomatopoeic; sound as a return to corporeality, post - mindly retreat. ) she resurfaces, reembodied and no less funereal for having unlaced a heavy tongue. 𝑎 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑠. a thin, crimson slash. a wound in a whiteout. ❛❛ and if i asked you to take a guess? ❜❜
𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀,
neophyte girl. guarding her nivose silence, as it settles, slowly, into present day. hear, the inscription of passage. nascent quietude, that never before was this loud, & never after would be. her vision swam, alabastrine memoir balancing at the edge of cognizance’s dossier. [ it is for the sagacious, the art of understanding.. but who is to say i am one of them ? i am not, and i do not understand— ] in her seat, she pretends she is but an extension of furniture, clothed in fabric. phantasmal noctures surround them. you, and i, are we also not an annex, too ? an addition. an appendage to the palindrome that makes us. one way or another, nomenclature would assign the titular witch to our name, and are we not already burning ? by the weight of it, this incomprehensible burden. she blinks. constrained by her own (perceived) bareness, ( .. ) the cage she sees herself in, is of her own design.. there is no restriction placed upon me other than the one i have sewn myself, and still, i treasured laconism, my tongue - tiedness, the hollowed out crate in my hungering heart.
as ever, difficulty is found in admittance. the admission of not knowing a noted strain to intellect. she struggles for words, seeing her lack of insight as incompetence, & like a house of cards, she falls apart to pick up the pieces in their fall. idiot, idiot girl! dusk - grey of eye is apprehensive, gaze an anxious anthem breaking from the intimacy of shared glances, [ it fleets, into the asylum of negative space. observing nothing in particular, solely its peripheral attentive. ] the old refrain sounds, but nothing is spoken. she remains silent, the noise of disquiet taking root in the hollow of her rib - cage. if she is indeed human [she was!] this soundlessness speaks against it. a caustic contradiction, now.. she appears, merely, as apparition woven into the bodice of mortality. what you understand a paling lullaby in her ear. wrought in penumbra, a decelerate, daring heroism blooms in the thorax, her hubris (at long last) adjourned.
& she says: “ .. i do not, [hushed lilt, her hum herculean - incarnate, it is palpable, painfully, her (humble) paroxysm.] i.. i do not . . i do not understand.. what happened, why it had happened.. i— i do not .. i do not understand— ” anything. anything. anything. i do not understand anything.
fawn - legged totter is truly an unfortunate catch - eye, and to this young woman ( the bumbling doe - mouth, overhasty in its race to the crux— that is, non - comprehension, ) she plays the reluctant voyeur, limbs marble - set by a curious sort of chagrin endemic to all likewise afflicted [ since time immemorial! ]. the fact is: all interior cataclysms compel an audience, their willingness notwithstanding; & yet she does not look away, seeking at least to confer dignity to this private paroxysm. counting on catharsis, that ambling playfellow with whose [chronically delayed] delights she finds her own self well - acquainted, elsa permits the tenderfoot her gaucherie. and when she deems this overlong — words far outpaced by ellipses in locution — proximity unseats prominence as she rearranges herself. ( less godhead, more girl. ) like pinions, the arms unfurl in momentary unreserve; the hands, open - palmed in palliation, neither reaching nor prodding, as in let be, little woman.
❛❛ not understanding is as valid an answer as any, ❜❜ this, in susurrus, its weight consigned to the idle zephyr lingering about, assured of its resonance, ❛❛ i would rather this than facetiousness, or fabrication, however well - intentioned. ❜❜ [ —something elegiac rings in the way they loiter, word - ends tapering into caliginosity as though they loathe to resign themselves to the oblivion of silence, here i stand, interminable. ]
the eyes, evoking forget - me - nots, probe for some slivers of resemblance beyond that deadnight’s winterly commune; some feminal rapport, perhaps, that might illumine their direction. ( shall i play the apophenic, forging further affinity from the kindling of a midwinter’s night? ) ❛❛ hush, now, and worry yourself no longer. many things in the world are beyond our comprehension, yes? & we must learn to forgive ourselves for that, though i’d argue that there is nothing to forgive. ❜❜ once again, in the scarletting evenfall, the mouth curves into a demilune. elsa leans back, received by her seat. ❛❛ we are also — when faced with such. . . incomprehensibility — well within our rights to walk away from them. ❜❜ [ oh, may she recognize egress when freely proffered; ] ❛❛ you don’t have to understand, if you do not wish to. if you’d like, we can finish our tea, talk about more mundane matters, and forget that all of this ever occurred. no harm done to you or yours. ❜❜
A Nymph in the Forest - Charles Amable Lenoir
𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞 : 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔
‘ i’ll find you again , wherever we end up next . ’
‘ the enormity of my desire disgusts me . ’
‘ please , one more kiss in the kitchen before we turn the lights off . ’
‘ i’ve been lost but i’m here now . you’re the only person who has ever been able to find me . ’
‘ almost dead yesterday , maybe dead tomorrow , but alive , gloriously alive , today . ’
‘ you are not broken . ’
‘ you can love and be loved , despite what may feel like the eternally brutal nature of the world . ’
‘ i did violence to my own heart . ’
‘ will i be forgiven for the sins i did not commit , but created ? ’
‘ i would never kiss anyone who doesn’t burn me like the sun . ’
‘ i would rather break the world than lose you . ’
‘ i think you and i have known each other in a few lifetimes . ’
‘ i didn’t know . i had no idea how greedy my heart really was . ’
‘ is that why the idea of losing you torments me so much ? ’
‘ how long have i been without you ? ’
‘ am i foolish for wanting this ? it will end in flames . it always does . ’
‘ sorry about the blood in your mouth . i wish it was mine . ’
‘ if i love you , is that a fact or a weapon ? ’
‘ tell me how all this , and love too , will ruin us . ’
‘ and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be . ’
‘ it cannot be a mistake to have cared . it cannot be an error to have tried . it cannot be incorrect to have loved . ’
‘ finally , i plead guilty of adoring you . ’
‘ a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort . ’
‘ without realizing , i find it in myself that i cannot stop thinking about you . ’
‘ tomorrow , when i wake up , i promise , i will be better . ’
‘ someone has to leave first . this is a very old story . there is no other version of this story . ’
‘ when i imagine myself , i am always leaving . i couldn’t draw my own face if god asked . ’
‘ do we simply stare at what’s horrible and forgive it ? ’
‘ i wanted to let go of the pain even though it was the last thing that felt alive from you . ’
‘ have i endured loneliness with grace ? ’
‘ i’ll be your slaughterhouse , your killing floor , your morgue and final resting , walking around with this bullet inside me ‘cause i couldn’t make you love me and i am tired of pulling your teeth . ’
‘ and then my soul saw you and kind of went , ‘ oh , there you are . i’ve been looking for you . ’ ’
‘ sometimes it feels like someone else is wearing my body . ’
‘ i spent my life arguing how i mattered until it didn’t matter . ’
‘ who knew my haven would be my coffin ? ’
‘ dead is the safest i’ve ever been . ’
‘ i’ve never been so alive . ’
‘ you know what i was gonna tell you before , but didn’t have the nerve ? you got your name written all over me . i got my name written on you , too . ’
‘ you already are something . you always were . and you still have time to be . ’
‘ you know me by heart . it infuriates me that you know me by heart . ’
‘ why am i waiting for you ? hungering and thirsting for you in every cranny of my soul and even in my ribs ? ’
‘ you came with a handful of pain and a smile which broke the ground under my feet as the earthquake does when two people meet . ’
‘ the only good thing is that i’m getting used to suffering . ’
‘ the return to time was not my choice . ’
‘ we are built to live inside each other . this means we are built to ruin . ’
‘ time does not bring relief ; you all have lied . ’
‘ time does not know how to keep our hopes safe . ’
‘ you needed me so much that you had to end me . ’
‘ there are days where i am morbidly in love with you , and this is one of those days . ’
‘ i know no end to desiring you . ’
‘ i fear that i am both too much yet not enough . ’
‘ yes , yes , yes , i do like you . i am afraid to say the stronger word . ’
‘ a heart’s a heavy burden . ’
‘ life , as i see it , is all about farewells rather than reunions . ’
‘ heaven is real and you only had two minutes to prove it to me . ’
‘ it was already love . ’
‘ everyone desires love but also finds it impossible to believe that they deserve it . ’
‘ i’ll love you until i forget how to . ’
‘ i’ll love you until i forget how to and then i’ll fall like my knees aren’t already bruised from doing it and i’ll remember why you’re worth the ache . ’
‘ of course i’ll hurt you . of course you’ll hurt me . of course we’ll hurt each other . but this is the very condition of existence . ’
‘ nothing makes me sadder and nothing makes me happier than you . ’
‘ i love you and i do not want to love you , it is too much and too difficult . ’
‘ grief is just love with no place to go . ’
‘ i felt my life with both my hands to see if it was there . ’
‘ you do this , you do . you take the things you love and you tear them apart . ’
‘ i hope it’s love . i’m trying really hard to make it love . ’
‘ if you touch me again i might burn up in the cold air . ’
‘ i asked you not to leave several times . ’
‘ i’ve only adored you lifetimes ago and here we are . it’s nice to see you again . ’
‘ all time ever does is pass and all i ever do is remember . ’
‘ i feel as though we were never strangers , you and i , not even for a moment . ’
‘ i’d choose you ; in a hundred different lifetimes , in a hundred worlds , in any version of reality , i’d find you and i’d choose you . ’
‘ nothing about this is soft but we pretend . ’
‘ maybe you and i are just a dream . ’
‘ i know you loved me too , you knew me , and it gladdens my heart . ’
‘ i promise i shall never give up and that i’ll die yelling and laughing . ’
‘ i don’t do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision . ’
‘ the world was made so that we could find each other in it . ’
‘ you don’t meet the people you love , you recognize them . ’
‘ i think you and i have known each other a few lifetimes . ’
‘ this body knows fear like a front porch knows welcome – it is always coming home . ’
‘ i miss you more than i remember you . ’
‘ if i could have done it all again , i would have loved you better . but i could not have loved you more . ’
‘ we could have been happy . i know that , and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know . ’
‘ you want a better story . who wouldn’t ? ’
(!)
&. @vinterose,
for the secret we share , a truth. ❝ yes , yes … of course , [ 𝐎 , 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃𝐋𝐘 , a stagnant realization , how many a time has she muttered the same collocation ? it was of little matter , to be sure , finding oneself speaking in repetitions , yet irksome. ] of course. ❞ in acknowledgement (or odious atonement?), the cup is positioned at pedestal.
❝ thank you ❞ gratitude is given in hiemal - formality , a cordial facilitation as if unable to forget courtesy. there is a slight change in her conduct , however , subtle , and not at all spectacular , still , she finds some contentment in their companionship , 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 … 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦. ❝ i should say , it is not the tea in itself , but the heat. ❞ it bit … burned … ❝ i have an allergy. ❞ it is left at that , and that alone.
albastrine truth - telling; i want to be able to trust you … and perhaps , she did , in part ⸺ for what else then , would she disclose her antecedent admission ?
alliance is amplified by insinuation ⸻ implied is a must , a meaning to trust the untrustable. reencounter’s recollection starts to blur , its image [ of empyrean , opulent empire … midst of forest -maw , alabaster - adorned emperor ] fragmented. if this was god , then so be it. i will not be afraid. what was seen is engraved in veils of memory , there was no forgetting it … no explanation. if she was god , was she as unmerciful as the god of her childhood , as cruel , as callous … as ungallant and ungodly ?
has she ? she has been occupied , with rehearsals and ruckus routines. mere … mundane matters. here , a (thoughtful) hum. ❝ there was a reason for our rendezvous , no ? [ 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 , 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑(𝐄𝐒𝐓) 𝐎𝐍𝐄 : coincidence is a pre - condition of catharsis. ] rarely do thing happen without it; whether by our will or not , our fates unfold … to answer you , however , i have been well. ❞
absently , fingers circle around cup’s rim. caesura results. continous. allocating anxiety. ❝ but … i suspect my mood is not why you have asked me to have tea with you , or , at the very least , it is not only for it that i am here. ❞ alluded is anticipation. is she impudent in importunacy ? o , how insolent … how ill - mannered … ❝ is it ? ❞ eye meets eye , a look into the couloir of the (inhuman) cerulean gaze ensuses … and for a fraction of a moment , her heart drops.
A CONGREGATION OF AFFIRMATIONS— like particularly ornery epiphytes burgeoning (by reverberation!) where they are cloistered, such that she herself might capitulate, ❛❛ of course, ❜❜ for the endeavor of ease. & so they advance, trading in truths by omission, plainspeak burrowing into the scattered moratoria between words. [ a most curious manner of soul - baring, sphinxlike. . . relinquishing wholes in halves, as in i have an allergy. ]
what else is there but the magnanimity of commiseration? —heat, that unholy agonist! ❛❛ I DO UNDERSTAND, ❜❜ and it kneads the eye - ends, rounding its stropped corners to illude (ironic) girlhood. in soundless concert, a light zephyr pacifies the tea - waft with a lover’s flittering caress. ❛❛ and i apologize for the oversight on my part; i will be sure to take your allergies into account, for any and all future occasions. ❜❜ ensconcing the self into light dissembling like a vesture of second skin, elsa anticipates a lightfooted traipse to sundown. they, momentarily inhered within a glass house of almosts, skirting the edges of crux in the manner of twain soubrettes— we are privy, once and never again, returning only in allusion.
𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆: surprise as a stone thrown against expectation, shattering their vitreous afternoon lodgings and delivering them. . . [ circumscribed by snow - capped conifers almost druidical in their slantwise camber; voyeurs and eavesdroppers, the lot of them, as if there had been sacrosanct unfolding, and not the simplest of truths! that— that—!
❛❛ i will admit, i had not imagined such a conversation would be taking place, and so soon. ❜❜ & elsa cradles lull in a teacup, the hush repining in her reticence as tongue - tip sups on the piquancy of abrupt forthrightness. ❛❛ NO, IT IS NOT. and i reckon it is not an entirely unexpected thing, for you. ❜❜ in their eyelock: perspicuity whets the shared gaze, transfiguring query into clarity. ❛❛ 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞. . . the simplest of truths. ❜❜ THAT—
❛❛ i should preface it by saying that i did not mean to; intentionality notwithstanding, i suppose the most apt explanation is that there had been a call. ❜❜ a roundelay most unworldly, from the white woodlands (and she that had been its warden). that—! ❛❛ strange as it may seem, it was a call that you heard, AND ANSWERED. ❜❜ [ deeper you went, into the whiteout! ] ❛❛ i would like. . . to understand. what you understand, that is, and if there is none to be comprehended, i should sooner direct us to more mundane matters. ❜❜
&. 𝐒𝐕𝐘𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐈,
❊ starter call. @verglase
❝ sometimes i feel as though i’m in the throes of it. somewhere in the belly of the beast. ❞ snow flurried around alina, her ivory hair caught on gale’s wind. for a moment she allowed it to wisp against her face, before brushing it behind her ears. a flush covered her cheeks, though if it were from the wind or the embarrassment of giving so much of herself ( pieces of her weary soul few were allowed to see. ) to a woman more stranger than friend. ❝ i love what i can do, who i have become, yet sometimes i yearn for normalcy. ❞
❛❛ THE BELLY IS NOT SO UNPLEASANT A PLACE— not all the time, at least. ❜❜ wintertide was always most querulous in decrescent, when spring - melt [ albeit distant still, ] marked its advent. they limned, to elsa, a most diaphanous image: white - haired / white - haloed, as though momentarily deified by the dwindling squall. as though allegorizing commiseration. ❛❛ & those sentiments are allowed their coexistence. but i feel you know, about as much as i, that normalcy is no longer in the cards. ❜❜ A SMILE, WAN. —weariness in (brief) reciprocation, between this heartbeat and the next.
DEATH KISSES THE MINDSCAPE, a jilted lover hounding the inamorata within the boudoir of closed - eye phosphenes— i am beloved by perdition on nights like these, nighttime trysts that emblazon (indelibly!) the half - life of a soul - widow. [ perennially bereaved, perennially shrouded by the blackened cumuli of memory. ] 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆, his last breaths assail incessantly like particularly vituperative echoes; with nary a wisp of sensory brume to dampen the impression of life - loss, all the while she perishes alongside him. thus the dalliance with decease, the i have never learned to live without you and so i shall not, not really—
UNTIL: there are palms ( familiar broad warm alive— ) enclasping the shoulders like a grapnel far gentler than she deserves, atremble though she is. a windborne orison ( enter, @goetiya: ] 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒. 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙. 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒. ) exhorts her return from deathgrip, its noxious trance.
awareness vivifies her, febrile in the way of desperadoes; the woodbine arms twine around the trellis of his frame, breaths pressed against his neck as though she might inhume herself into the cadence of his (beating!) pulse. ❛❛ you are here. you are here, you— you’re alive. ❜❜ a litany of deified sobriquets and indiscernible tautologies from the mouth of a recreant, so often removed from the creed of reality. ❛❛ YOU’RE ALIVE, and this is— this is. . . real? is this real? ❜❜
&. 𝐋𝐘𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐀,
𝙷𝙾𝙽𝙴𝚈𝙴𝙳 𝙷𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙰 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝙻𝙵. the period of longing for complacency clambers amongst the streaks of urgency before it rests at the small of his back, the dawning of his ardor a savior against the monstrous elasticity of his condition. he bleeds into her then, his fingers a phantom of warmth as they rub circles into the delicate expanse of fabric beneath them. 𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗶 𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻, his hips shifting into a deliberate angle as he sinks further into his seat, the crowning of rosemary being the friction between her and him. ❝ i apologize, my dear. i don’t have a single idea. ❞ his voice is normally a misplaced stretch of 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨; in the blooming of her elegance, it’s now more of a testament. his 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑢𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 colors his language and the canvas of his expression with a vibrant cardinal; surely her understanding of his person allows her to grasp his facetiousness.
the silver of his stare curls into the candy-coated halo of her complexion, his jaw slack. ❝ 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗀𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄. ❞ his arms move to cage her, small waist in the valleys of his hands, ❝ the weather’s supposed to be better today. ❞ conversation is featherlight, but all in vain; neither of them have any desire to vacate their current positioning. his heart is a torrent against the shell of his ear, and the space between his lungs and rib cage is where his love has a name.
WE THAW INTO DAYSPRING TORPOR, warmed by the heart - fire: here where that beloved eyne, pretercanine by nocturne, permits a lambency atypical— quietly fluorescing with the dawn - skeined sky. this hour makes a moorage of him, anchor - hands embosoming the sylph, guiding her pinions to honeyed repose. [ 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐓 / 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 ] thralls her locomotion; that inch with which he settles now equally riposted, zero - sum. here is where i resolve to crawl into you, feathers to pelt to skin to heartbeat. ( my name in your chest— how does it feel? ) ❛❛ an early walk? ❜❜ a coquette’s aria, descanted by the simpering mouth, hopelessly(!) florid in the lowlight. ❛❛ hm. . . they did say to expect more pleasant weather from here on out, didn’t they? ❜❜ beleaguered is the lilt, contemplation like an anvil perturbing its brunt; entirely ostensive, to be sure, but have they not commenced their round of euchre?
❛❛ WELL, ❜❜ she bids adieu to the lapse that was silence’s momentary demesne, intimates decoupling from the singular esse they have deliquesced into. ❛❛ if we’re to take advantage of that general pleasantry, it’d be best if we got a move on. ❜❜ —all this seeking demurral, of course, hanging by a rein now forcibly enfeebled by her dallying. ( & yet, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚. . .
Ingeborg Bachmann, from Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems; “Journey Out”
Text ID: The dark water, thousand-eyed, / opens its white-foamed lashes, / studying you, deep and long,
Glacial River Lagoon (Jökulsárlón, Iceland) by Dariusz W.
@psifyre [ sent ] — ❛❛ for all my talk of vows and honor, what i really want is to put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another's name. ❜❜
𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓: doe - meet - headlights, all percipience ( —all life - whetted angles of her ) planed by unbelief. there must be some poesy in this, in the denouement to predation by sentiment, to the overlong hunt for desire and denial both. waylaid within their (living room) morass, the deadweight frame wages war against compulsions to exodus— that interminable absconding, even now unrooting her heels in IMMINENT FLIGHT. [ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑦𝑙𝑝𝘩, howbeit anchored by the heartstrings. . . ]
something had to give. today it is jean; rending the ribcage and proffering the flora proliferated therein, afire in the way she always has been, as if here is my yawning chest, my beating heart for your taking, and perhaps this was never a hunt but pursuit, and perhaps it was elsa’s own obstinacy that kept margins deliberately uncrossed, and— how long, still, must i deny myself 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚?
( . . . ) HEELS MOOR THEMSELVES, the woman unmoved but for two tremulous fingers, purposively splayed. ❛❛ 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, ❜❜ she says, nigh - orgulous in her call for aplomb, just so skirting soliloquy, ❛❛ first— there has never been ‘another’. surely, you’ve gathered that from just about. . . everything you know about my life thus far, yes? ❜❜ [ CIRCUMLOCUTORY, ever - meandering the road to absolute honesty. ] an advance in three - step, conclusion to chase; the lifted chin is almost exigent. ❛❛ second— well, what’s stopping you now? ❜❜
A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments, Roland Barthes
𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒— TO BE MYTHIC, ossified into the world - marrow, in an everlife both pinion and pen. her (divine) malady: a phrenic chill, burrowing beneath the pseudoskin in a perversion of the element beloved, seeding some chronic disquiet. i am so cold, she had said; largely laryngeal in the singularity of her candor, a profession of faith (of farce) that avows itself only at the overspill. 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟. [ 1842, MYTHOLOGIZE THE GIRL - QUEEN: forge for her a pair of scapulae like wings, atlantes for the earth - weight (the home - weight, history and people and fate and sin—). an oblation, to the river of memory. . . ]
𝑩𝑼𝑻 𝑺𝑯𝑬, @bloodiyr, “you needn’t be anyone you want to be. [...] —you wouldn’t have to hide, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑛𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢.”
❛❛ WHO I WANT TO BE. . . i cannot say i know who or what that is. ❜❜ a pensive murmur, paltry and lugubrious against the (wondrous) silent reverb of life - hum about the chambers, plainsong calling to her innate winter - self— and oh, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 - 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧, mesmerized by all this aliveness. ❛❛ i don’t quite think i can remember who i am at all. ❜❜ she turns to the other ( —NOT - OTHER, but a kindred spirit, in more ways than one ); vulnerose. ❛❛ but i know i would like to find out. ❜❜
