#eitienne

i. this is my first day of missing you. the sun has risen, and here i am on the same shore, with the sand beneath my feet and the waves kissing my legs. the image of you drifting out to sea, away from me, burning into the back of my eyelids. what a childish dream it was of mine, that I would believe that I would never have to let you go. ii. were you any more than a dream? your skin that I mapped beneath my palms, your eyes that were my only skies. once i looked up and saw the sun and the moon and the stars. but from the moment you came all those that were celestial melted into your face. iii. all those promises you whispered in the dark; you spoke of a woman, Penelope? you said you loved her. i loved you too. iv. they say that our love was toxic; but the thing I miss most were our close-lipped kisses. v. i always woke before you. when the rosy blush of dawn reaches out and begins to caress my feet, my eyes are already open. yours were always lidded, like drooping petals in a lazy summer’s night. but when they opened, it was as if the blossoms have begun to bloom in full brightness. vi. remember me, will you? i’ll give up every one of my sleepless nights weaving till my fingers bled, for me to stay behind your closed eyes. vii. was I not as soft as the nymphs? as tempting as the sirens? unlike those creatures of torture and passion I truly loved you. viii. tell me: when you touched my face, who were you imagining me to be? calypso, or another beating heart waiting for you to come home? viv. hypnos, I pray you put me in eternal sleep: for if I cannot die, let me dream away all of eternity. x. i will miss you forever.

JULES hello we havent talked in a long while and i'm sorry im crap at maintaining conversations :<< but i hope ur doing good so fart this week!! x

newsletter: you have all my words✨

she speaks: the dead language of the stars. her lilting syllables a lullaby, whispering forgotten words. paint-stained fingers reach up, brushing the blue skies with sunlight, twirling the stars around the moon. the cracked spine of a book. (her broken heart.) mended and re-mended by the constellations of time. and though she has learnt too many, — her mind a river flooded by a tidal wave of swallowed speech— she has yet to learn the utterance of love. she has yet to learn to describe someone singing you to sleep. she does not know the names of those moments, when her feet barely touch the ground. she cannot speak of someone with stars in their eyes just like her. but she will whisper to her poets, until the day she can.

spring; golden light spilling  from the heavens. the flowers blossoming, the air heady with perfume. she sat in the fields, flowers nestled between her palms, and from her pretty lips, tumbled, the music of the stars. that's when she fell: princes of darkness, came to take, came to save, their beautiful princess. palaces made of broken dreams, haunting choruses, a place where the crescent moon sat her wicked edges gleaming. and when she was found, when the sunlight untangled her lashes, and blue skies kissed her cheeks once more, did she miss the darkness? or did it feel like a curse, a nightmare tailored in satin and lace, where she was not a princess but a queen of hell? just when they thought she'd withered, she bloomed, and with her, all the forgotten blossoms of the universe.