A hundred black roses were lined up in a hundred glass vases underneath the large window, displaying a cascading and snowy world that clashed with one hundred shadowed, petalled silhouettes. Each thorn, save one, had been meticulously sliced off each of the dyed stems. She knew he did that by hand for her, to remind her that the dark ones were like these flowers. Singular, lovely, dangerous. How many nights had their trainings ended with that harsh reminder, a haunting and longing whisper breathed into her hair.
Always wonder first thing in the morning…how do I make magic?
Maybe you’re not there anymore. I’m sorry I’ve been gone. It’s been so long that I don’t know what to say.
But let me start with this. I haven’t forgotten about you, and I haven’t ever given up on this project. Continue reading “Forget me nots, for you dear reader. Or why we vanish.”
The apartment was blue, and it wasn’t cold. Moving pictures, paper princesses flashed across the screen, and I watched from behind your tousled brown hair, as the strands tickled the tip of my nose.
I was in a typical Parisian apartment, and by that I mean it was filled with unanswered questions, unexplored corners, cigarette smoke and no pressing need to change any of that. Continue reading “The King & the Bird, or the first time you held me in Paris”
Starting out with your blog can be scary. Who’s going to read it? Why is my voice special? Writers ask themselves these questions all the time, and that’s normal.
Putting yourself out there requires courage, and that’s a beautiful & strong part of your writer’s soul. Keep writing, darling. Your dreams are just around the corner. This is my love letter to other writers, and to those who give us courage when we don’t see the beauty written between our own lines. Continue reading “The warmth of writers & the magic of encouragement”