Midnightdrabbles Stories

❝ grief isn't always loud. sometimes, it's for the living who walked away. sometimes it's revisiting the old ; pressing fingers to old scars, naming each one with poems. i write in crimson truths for survival, how else could i breathe anew when my lungs house red lilies i planted for you? ❞ a collection of grief hymns, love letters and aching little miracles carved from silence. poetry/prose [lowercase intended]

Drabbles and thoughts