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𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 🌺,

𝘚𝘰 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵.

The most significant discoveries and best moments of my life have often happened by chance, contrary to popular belief. Whenever I look back, I struggle to pinpoint the exact moment they occurred. These experiences, in some way, altered the course of my life, yet I can’t quite remember how they unfolded. I never actively sought them out; they just simply found me.I’m talking about moments like how I got into reading, how I discovered my love for writing, my first relationship, my current friendship, the experiences that broadened my perspective, and the moments that defined my beliefs.

—A lady and her quill, Journal of wandering thoughts.

—𝓐𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓦𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭

If I cannot love you openly like I wish, if I cannot hold your hand when walking Or wrap you in my arms late at night. Then I will love you silently, in my mind and behind closed eyes For there, there is no rejection or heartbreak. And surely it is better to love silently than to not love at all?

—unknown

"Why do you reject love" he asked. "I can't bring myself to accept love because I don't even know how to love myself gently. To be loved... I feel I must first be flawless in the mirror, in the mind, in a room full of strangers, in the quiet corners of my soul. How can I be someone's dream girl if I never feel good enough?" Silence lingered, heavy and unresolved.

—A lady and her quill, Notes to a boy I now resent

𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑤𝑠. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠. 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

"I wanted to be loved so desperately that my fingers shook with it, I am not beautiful but I could be" ― Emily Palermo

To the little girl who faded with the dying light of October, 1922— My dearest Cecilia, It is with unbearable grief that I write to you. Each passing day, I am forced to reconcile with the weight of your absence, haunted by the silence you left behind. Although it wasn’t my hands that took your life, my heart aches with regret— because in the silence of my heart, I have convinced myself that it was my fault.

—A lady and her quill, Letters to dead children.