( fera puella. )

                          This blog has officially become super selective. There is only so much I can divide my energy into these days. Unfortunately, I won’t be following everyone back. That isn’t to say I’m not down to write with you, I just need patient partners that won’t ditch me if I need a break or am too busy. So, yeah, this blog is just going to be pretty chill and like a writing safe space.

                             There was a distance between days; it dragged into weeks, before blossoming into months, and turning into, what felt like, years. And during those years, she learned two lessons: the art of yearning and how quickly youth crumbles.                             She faded from God’s grasp. Slowly, parting from presence, fluttering from flesh; she excused herself from his affections. Her motions were mean enough to make him mortal, for surely it was the first time both of them realized the burden of being a reaper.                             Death comes to take more than just ones make. It can steal the solace beneath ones skin or the woes we so desperately attempt to withdraw. . . One could argue it’s affiliation with avarice; for it acquires much, but seldom allows anything to return. Death took them too; not just bodies, but what once bound them to each others breath. Now when one exhales, the other is oblivious and for centuries it stayed this way. They became symbols of silence. . . Unfitting for figures who made music through constant malice and making up.                             She doesn’t know what drove her to disappear. She made threats to leave and they came off as listless. As if leaving would sooth her sores or fix feuds, as if abandoning the architect responsible for her revival would do the ghost any good. So when he slept, she sauntered off into null and night. It was in the dark that she would let these demons decay. But how long will her being stay black? How long since she has seen the sun? How long until his voice vexes her and shatters the strength she so desperately tried to shape? It didn’t come, it never came and yet, she continued to collapse.                              It was then that she realized he wasn’t responsible for her ruin. It was always there and with an appetite.                              Did he know she would return? It was raining upon her retreat. And she remembers this walk well. He used to be beside her, arm above being, carrying umbrella over soaked structure. But prior to saving the shivering, they exchanged a brief embrace. . . As wraiths wept from heightened heavens, they remained still in silver. Arms acted like the foundations for home; his entirety awakened senses once stolen. . . He smelled of places from her past, of people she had seen as pleasant, of a world where they were no longer allowed to occupy. . . Because bodies were banished. And yet a single structure, one bound together by bone, held more similarities to shelter than any house around their huddled forms.                             And now she is alone. Waiting within waterfalls for him to let her come home. Not into the four walls that keep them warm, but into the same heated hands that act as her answer. | @mysteriousshopkeeper​

                                                    what’s good tho.

                       I’m always taking blog recommendations, friend. I appreciate it! I’ll definitely give ‘em a look. I’m sure they’d be flattered to hear you say that. Thank you again!

                                   ❝ Now I'm wide as the ocean; now I bleed roses.You are just a mark on the map of my past. ❞

                                   ❝ Every night I rush to my bed with hopes that maybe I’ll get a chance to see you when I close my eyes. ❞