“Sometimes I’ll Start A Sentence And I Don’t Even Know Where It’s Going. I Just Hope I Find It

The Return

"Nothing was wrong with you for having such faith or belief in things...the friends we do not see all the time with our physical eyes. Nothing was wrong about you believing you have enough love to create the dream world we wanted to live in eventually. Nothing was wrong about you not finding other things ugly. Nothing was wrong with you for always believing that when it comes to love...nothing is entirely impossible. You were always right...you were always sweet, you were also quite fearless because you were free. You were you...but at some point we all started to tell you that's not reality and that could never be reality and all those things that felt like you deserved them...? Oh no...that must be too good to be true because 'magic isn't reality'...that 'this is not a fairytale' and I am so sorry we did that to you. I am sorry we ripped off your wings and told you to grow up and grow a new pair made of the heaviest stones and steel. They were never meant to be ripped off in the first place so I carefully removed all the hard surfaces and one day I stumbled upon the little flaps of delicate, sparkly wings still remaining underneath...tender to the touch. And I helped you weave a new pair...magical wings sewn with the thread of love, compassion and warmth and told you to fly again...let's go create the world we've always known...show me again that world we always believed in. You smiled at me and I was a bit wary if I had done enough, if I sewed the wings good enough...if everything—anything that I had done to help you was...enough. Yet...you beamed at me, pulled me down and placed a crown of the finest flowers on top my head and you held my hand and said 'Let's go...I've been waiting, I knew one day you'd return' And within those words I gained a lot of strength...I gained so much more that others may not be able to fathom it." ~Elunara W. | [Written 03/12/24]

—Short excerpt from a letter I wrote to my inner child.

The Wisps of Life

We sat, it was both of us alone in there. I asked, “Do you regret it, do you regret any of it at all?” She stared at me with an almost unreadable smile As if—as if I already knew the answers to that. As if we both knew the answer to that question.

“Not really,” she laughed with this carefree spirit. Head tilted back with uncontained mirth and all. I wondered briefly if the shadows of life had ever truly graced her, Or had the upturns of her lips tasted the weight of the world exponentially. Perhaps one too many times—one too many.

Our eyes locked and for a split second, I saw it. The intricately woven tapestry of life—threads of gold beyond the void. Clumsy fingers red and sore from the unexpected thorns and pricks. I understood it all. I smiled in return, of course she had, I’d know that more than anyone, wouldn’t I?

“Do you regret any of it at all?” there’s a knowing glint in her kind eyes. Brief memories of cold eyes, wet pillows, sleepless nights, homesickness. Suffocating silence, tearful letters, words—so many words left unsaid. Tremors of an empty stomach, deepening shadows, the complete isolation. That dreadful feeling of being too different, the unforeseen weight of generations prior.

Yet—I’ve always known something else. Something more, something warmer.

There’s a faint but steady pulse against where my hand lays on my chest. Tearful laughter, wind in my hair, dirt under my feet, chirping of birds every dawn, Clammy hands in mine, a comforting shoulder, broken facades, the gentle whisper of weary but hopeful hearts connecting, the glimmers of hope—gold amongst the dark. I breathed in, then out and suddenly as our eyes met again, I knew. I was alive.

Reaching out, cold meeting warm, our palms connected for a moment in time, “No, not really,” I echoed with a giggle, pulling away a second later. I got up, facing away, sore hands reaching out towards the cold doorknob now. As the cold surface thawed against the heat of my palms, I took one glance back. A foggy handprint, the only remnant of our brief moment shared together. ~Elunara W.

"As an artist...why do you create?"

I think the simple fact that there's so much to envision…there's so much ideas, stories, messages waiting on an outlet to bring them into the physical. The fact that we have an imagination and can dream about so many things and express it here in the 3D. The beautiful feeling of connection that bridges the gaps of separation when we share our creativity with others as well ~whimsicweaver

My Diary Friend

“And most may say the life of being a diary friend is uncertain and possibly unfair but my little girl just really needs me here. So here I’ll always stay for a long, long time until we meet again for a giggle, cry or even her cute little smile.” Connecting to the heart of my precious Journal~ I have personally always loved to journal ever since I was a little young Earthling and I've viewed my journal as a very close bestfriend; an extension of myself. My journal or diary has always provided me a safe haven and I'm proud to say that they've been the prime guardian of my inner child's heart and our dreams. It may be silly from an external perspective, calling my journal a friend but it's another subtle form of unconditional love that exists within my reality and for that I am most grateful.

~Elunara W.

Through My Mother's Eyes

tw// mentions of blood and slaughter (not graphically described) Sometimes, I look into my mother's eyes and I wonder what she truly sees? Does she see me or the sight of a little girl who once was free? A girl that soon was forced to clumsily grow up under the weight of familial expectations beyond extreme. Sometimes, I look into my mother's eyes and I wonder, I truly wonder what my mother sees when she looks at me.

Am I still her precious little girl? One created from the most delicate of flower petals, the warmth of the first rays of dawn, the patience of a familiar ordinary thing—a World's Best Mom mug. Maybe. Or does she perhaps see me as an accommodation? One I know her heart made room in a tight life; a difficult space to receive. Another burden. Maybe she sees a silly little girl handed not one, nor two, nor three…but six toddlers to take care of. Of course, still not yet counting all the other little children playing in oversized adult suits.

Sometimes, I look into my mother's eyes and I wonder what she truly sees? Perhaps I was being too soft, too idealistic with my words before. Maybe she sees me as the inconvenience I know I am to her somewhere deep down. A culmination of early regrets, a dozen of 'too soons', a handful of 'not readys', a pinch of resentment and a drink of guilt induced apologies to wash it all down.

What should I feel guilty for this time, mother? Your husband's indifference, your mother's relentless disappointment, the dreams you had to give up, the weight of the world you have been insistent on carrying? Perhaps I should apologize for being your only daughter.

What should I feel guilty for today mother? Just let me know. Because everytime I look in your eyes, I see the sweetest little girl who would serve her heart on a platter if it means another person could have one more moment to feel the comforting beating. I see a little body trembling but oh so filled with determination–to get this right; to bring everyone along even if it means pushing a boulder uphill. She wants to get this right. She needs to get this right.

But do you know mother, that when I look into your eyes I see nothing but a little girl deserving of tender love? A girl I would sacrifice my own heart for if it means she would get another moment to stay her curious and wonderful self. So what should I feel guilty for this time mother? Just let me know. Because although in your eyes, I may be a sacrificial lamb upon an altar of shame and guilt that was never yours to carry, I would still allow you to slaughter me upon that altar. Maybe the warmth of my blood would comfort you—maybe that warmth would finally reach you. Or perhaps it would touch the hands of all the women prior, who suffered the same fate as you.

To be fair, I indeed do not know; I am pondering after all. This can be full of assumptions, illusions or maybe some truths. One thing I do know is I would continuously extend my hand of unconditional love towards that little girl even in death for she deserves the world. If only you'd finally let her see it too.

~Elunara W.

The Mirror's Role

Perhaps we owe the mirror an apology. It was made for us to reflect with ourselves not to compare or degrade ourselves. The mirror exists to reflect the truest perception that we hold of ourselves therefore creating the reality around those beliefs. If we never had the mirror, many people say we'd have an easier time accepting ourselves and that can be true…if it never existed it'd surely make for an easier time removing that attachment to a physical lens we have but that's not the higher truth…the mirror shows us what we see and tell ourselves. The mirror has probably been the easiest target for the role of a scapegoat as we don't always like to face ourselves nor our truths…so we've projected a lot of resentment, hatred, anger towards something we created with our own hands. Our own creation suffered at the hands of its creator because we couldn't bare to give up our attachment to self-loathing. It's not our fault, nor is it the mirror's but in the end we are responsible for removing that distortion and for seeing who and what we are in all our glory; the good, evil, beautiful, ugly, everything.

~Elunara W.

Fear and Ignorance

Knowledge Know- represents an awareness of something Ledge- a narrow horizontal surface projecting from a wall 'Know' + 'Ledge' = being aware that what you seem to know may still be very narrow sighted | it's an opportunity to expand oneself ⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊ We sometimes fear what we do not know. Ignorance is really just a lack of knowledge in a certain area of life and that creates fear within us but should we always allow this fear-based ignorance to lead? Maybe we're one or two curious questions away from leaning into a whole new perspective that truly inspires our life found within the very things we refuse to look at. I think we rather stay ignorant because we are afraid of the very real possibility that we've been living in a world of illusion. We are scared to give up all that we've ever known...because we are, at times, more comfortable with our current "truths" I have been exploring the state of ignorance for a little while and I don't believe ignorance is an inherently bad state of mind to have. I think ignorance is yet another tool we use and it is necessary to have in certain cases. However, fear-based ignorance can lead to more dangerous choices and consequences. That's why I think curiosity can be a helpful elixir to curb some of the ignorance rooted in fear and a lack of knowledge. ~Elunara W.

Grief is the love we no longer know where to place. It is proof that something mattered, that something touched you so deeply it still lingers even in its absence. And that’s the cruel beauty of it: grief only exists where love once did.

The Embrace of Light and Dark

"We use the darkness to justify our fears of the unknown and unfamiliar~ Although the fears are valid, and indeed can become true they are only illusions at the present and we shouldn't allow that to stop us. There is light in darkness; a comfort and there is darkness in light; discomfort." ~Elunara W.