epistolary ships

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a diary in letters to trace the days, the months, along Time's spine. To capture it, if only for a moment, and remember the taste of what has gone by.

moldy-apples: this is beautiful in a way that both hurts and heals. i see your writings on the back of my eyelids so clearly. have you published anything yet?

This is so lovely. Thank you.

More writing is coming soon. I was a bit in a block for several months, but hopefully things will come back to me now.

I haven’t published anything yet, god no. It’s nice of you to think I could though xx

Anonymous: Hi, did you write the Fox-girls poem?

I did!

all poems on this blog are written by me. :D

1 year ago ⋅ 1 note

1 year ago ⋅ 57 notes ⋅ january 2013   dear   

1 year ago ⋅ 1,212 notes ⋅ november 2012   p.s.   

2 years ago ⋅ 102 notes ⋅ october 2012   p.s.   


Sometimes I have this fleeting thought of ‘I am good enough for this’. Then it slips between my fingers, not quite merging with my skin, like water and oil, leaving only its faint scent under my fingernails, in the creases of my pillow.

One day, I’ll find its freezing point, flash freeze it before it gets away and swallow it whole. Then it can melt inside my chest where it won’t get away.
Then I’ll think it and think it and think it, on and on

and I’ll believe it, too. 

2 years ago ⋅ 69 notes ⋅ VIA ⋅ SOURCE ⋅ misc   


He made me a blanket fort.

Last year, when I was going reckless with sadness and panic, wondering constantly as to what I am doing, what I am suppose to do, what I want and the sheer conviction that I could never achieve what I want to achieve, he made me a blanket fort.

He set it out at the foot of the bed, so I could lean my back against it. He put a small foam mattress on the floor and covered it with a soft duvet. He made it just high enough to sit in it and made sure all chairs, all wood, everything that wasn’t soft and blankets and pillows, was covered.
He put a lamp there, and my computer, and a fan for when it got too hot. And then, he let me in, and pulled down the covers behind me, so that it was only me there, safe, in my own cocoon. 

I stayed in there for more than a week. Only coming out to go to the bathroom, or for food. I even slept there, and he never minded me not being with him in bed. I laid there watching all the episodes of Jeeves & Wooster, which proved almost as big a comfort as the fort itself, and movies and silly youtube videos. Sometimes he would crawl in with me, and hold me in his arms while we watched episodes of QI.

He never said anything. Never told me I should stop. Never told me to get over it, to get out of there already. So one day, I got out, looked around, and pulled down the fort myself, carefully folding all of the blankets, putting away the mattress and the chairs, putting back the computer where it belonged on the desk, sat there, and watched another movie. 
And that was that.

He made me a blanket fort, so I wouldn’t feel so lost, so I could feel safe, until I was able to stand on my own again. 

(about my love xxx)

2 years ago ⋅ 63 notes ⋅ VIA ⋅ SOURCE ⋅ misc   
krstp: Where do all your letters come from? I mean from books? Submissions? Are they all your own? (I really enjoy your blog, thanks for putting in the works whatever your source is :))

they’re all mine. Everything on epistolary-ships is written by me :D
(thank you!)