I’m sorry that it’s taken me an eternity to write this. My knees have been dug into the dirt for months over this mess I’ve made. I’ve been screaming at trees like they owe me something, and throwing leaves above my head to understand why beautiful things always die next to me. If I am not the victim, I will play it until the blood on my hands is seeping from your pores and maybe that’s why it’s not a bad thing that this knife is pointed at my chest. I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense but nothing makes any sense. My thoughts flow freely until it comes to you and then I start choking on my sentences. I’m picking these words from in-between my teeth and slamming them on the paper as if they even mean anything anymore. I’m sorry that it took me so long to realise that I’m the monster hiding under your bed and the maker of your worst nightmare. I left you standing in the middle of a thunderstorm with nothing but steel memories. I just couldn’t bare to stand in front of you because the reflection of your eyes would turn into the type of darkness that even the moon is afraid of. I couldn’t see what you saw in me with that demon staring back. I thought running away would protect you from it because my touch is what ruins everything but I didn’t even have to lay a finger on you to destroy you. Lately, all I know is how to say I’m sorry. Your mind was already a war zone and I chose to fight against you. The sky was falling above your head and I insisted on throwing punches in the air. I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out that the reason you can’t sleep at night isn’t because you miss me. My walls are screaming your name in agony from every time I’ve shoved a bloody first through them for how wrong I was. I should have held your hand, cemented my feet to the ground, and put up a fight against the oncoming storm. Please stop setting fire to our house while you’re still inside. I will open the door and you can watch me burn.

This is your closure.

– Maggie Stiefvater


Do you really think God will forgive me for the blood on my hands, even if my soul was free? I’m going to hell no matter what happens. Let me have my pathetic hopeless love while I can. Just – let me pretend it will turn out all right.

Lament: The Faerie Queen’s Deception

– Jane Austen


I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it…


– Lemony Snicket


“I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make everyone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are opened and discovered, and until all the secrets have you gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled…”

The Beatrice Letters