Tag: prose

books you drank up with your soul and animals you gave a home to and the plants you raised with your own fingers and rain tapping softly against your window at night will never break your heart. 

become the old forest god with light in its seven pupilless eyes and shadows of long-gone animals playing around its flower-crowned coat that you always wished to be abducted by as a child

Let’s be honest – the real potential of immortality having the time to read every single book you’re curious about, watch all the movies you’ve ever wanted to see and discover music you never even knew existed.

plants are the silent watchers protecting us, animals are the wild warriors taking down our enemies, and if we kill both, we will perish as soon as a single old god awakens

“looks don’t matter, it’s what inside that counts” is an easy thing to say when you are so beautiful that you don’t even notice and the first impression people have of you is always how nervous, heart-fluttering, overwhelmed you made them feel, how badly they want to get to know you, to realize your even larger beauty inside; and it’s easy to say when you’re not so absolutely average-looking that it coaxes nobody into a second look at all, with no interest to learn who you are inside. 

so yes, it’s inside what counts, but if nobody cares about looking, you end up watching alone. you either learn to love your brilliance in silence and solitude or you scream loud enough that they have to look at you.

The first day of October has strong magic to it. The only creatures that dare set their eyes on the moon that night are, without a doubt, all witches. 

Oh? You did what? And you did it on the first night of autumn’s reign?

Then we must say to you:

Welcome. We have been waiting for you.

I beg you to believe me when I say that a firefly will never hurt you on accident. They’re gentle and kind and their light guides your way. But if you anger them, and it is hard and dangerous and never recommended to do so, then their wrath will be filled with godlike intent of destruction. Their light may guide the respectful man’s way, but it also leads the firefly’s unholy revenge straight to your throat, should you be foolish enough to provoke them.

I know that the world tells you that you’re an adult now. That with the end of school, the wild wonder of your soul is lost once and for all. All the books tell their story until here and not further. And you’re afraid that the two standing where a one used to stand in your age means grey and sad and second-best, that it means never again this young, this free, this immortal. But here’s a secret. Those that have reached their two? They feel the same. Never as young again, never as beautiful. The ones with a three? Never this independent, raw, bursting with colours. 

Listen, sweetest – a lot happens to you now. So much happens when you’re young. It all burns and you are so bright that it all feels like nothing but darkness lies ahead. You’ll always be a bit small and unfinished inside. We’re all a little lost and soft and broken at our edges. But you don’t have to be whole (nobody ever is, really) to be good. You don’t have to look at the spot someone else your age is standing in right now. The forest they’ve traveled to may be beautiful, but their rainforest is not where you need to go to grow your roses. And if you need a rainforest after all, for the new wild you’ve found after you thought it was all gone, then it will grow from your own hands, and your own years. 

I know you’re afraid that anything important has passed, and your own importance with it. It hasn’t. It couldn’t, not ever, because ever moment and year and all of your life matters, and will make all you do and change become history.