“She Was Still A Girl, A Slight Lovely Girl Who Lay In Bed And Ate Chocolates, A Girl Whose Hair Smelled

My personal fig tree

—Emily Dickinson

"I love you. You may as well take my heart Catherine it's already full of you." "Please go!" "What is it? What's wrong my dear?" "You know nothing about me….you've known me only three weeks!" "Three weeks? Catherine I've known you all my life." "All your life?" "It's true, when I heard beautiful music I thought, 'she'd like that'. I looked at flowers knowing that one day I'd give them to you." "Oh stop, stop." "But for my heart there is another love that must come before you, my country."

—Masquerade,

Dangerously Yours

— Albert Camus

hey i saw ur post abt reader’s block and what usually works for me is switching up genres or subgenres :) the further it is from what i usually read, the better honestly

Thank you for the advice, I might give that a try ❤️

𝑀𝑦 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝐽𝑜𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑦𝑛, 𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘, 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑡ℎ. 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑦𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑙𝑒. 𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟; 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑡ℎ𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟. 𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑜, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑧𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜. 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠, 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒. 𝐻𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒… 𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠, 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐾𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡.

—William Thatcher, A Knight’s Tale -The Letter

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘭𝘥— 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘶𝘴. 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮. 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘗𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴, 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, “𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵,” 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭— 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴, 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘞𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴.

—A Lady and Her Quill, Journal of Wandering Thoughts