A-lady-and-her-quill - 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘰'𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱, 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

—Unknown author, The Last Unicorn (inspired by Peter S. Beagle’s novel)

“Shrinking in a corner, pressed into the wall; do they know I'm present, am I here at all? Is there a written rule book, that tells you how to be— all the right things to talk about— that everyone has but me? Slowly I am withering— a flowered deprived of sun; longing to belong to— somewhere or someone.”

― Lang Leav, Love & Misadventure

The city was silently bloating in the hot sun, rotting like the thousands of bodies that lay where they had fallen in street battles. An oppressive, hot wind blew from the southeast, carrying with it the putrefying stench of decay. And outside the city walls, Death itself waited— in the persons of Titus, son of Vespasian, and sixty thousand legionnaires, who were anxious to gut the City of God.

—Francine Rivers, A Voice in the Wind (Mark of the Lion series).

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

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.

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

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

"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

“In my restless dreams, I see that town. Silent Hill. You promised me you'd take me there again someday. But because of me, you were never able to. Well, I'm alone there now… In our “special place.” Waiting for you…" Waiting for you to come to see me. But you never do. And so I wait, wrapped in my cocoon of pain and loneliness. I know I've done a terrible thing to you. Something you'll never forgive me for. I wish I could change that, but I can't. I feel so pathetic and ugly lying here, waiting for you...

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 ❤️