hey, love.
i’m sorry for being away, for the silence, for the chapters that never made it past the drafts. life’s been… a lot. and i’m still learning how to carry it without losing pieces of myself along the way.
some of you have wondered if i’ve stopped writing, please know that won’t happen. out of all the beautiful things people have poured into this fandom, the art, the edits, the theories, the love, writing is the only thing i’ve ever had to give. it’s the only language i know. in a world where others bring brilliance i could never replicate, this is the only thing that feels like mine.
but i won’t pretend, it’s not easy to write about something that no longer exists the way it used to. it’s hard to breathe life into what feels like memory now. still, just like every story i’ve ever told found its own ending, Her Pink, Still will too. maybe slower, maybe softer. but it’s not forgotten.
and to those of you still here, still holding on through the unraveling, still choosing to believe when belief feels like a bruise, i see you. i feel you.
i know what it’s like to love something that no longer exists the way it once did. to cling to echoes. to wait on the off-chance that the universe might still be kind.
and maybe it’s foolish. maybe it’s brave. maybe it’s both.
don’t lose your mind just yet.
there’s more to this life than endings. more than goodbye. more than what was lost.
i’m still here. for you. with you.
and as long as you’re still here too, you are not alone.
i’ll always be, quietly, softly, endlessly—with you.
thank you for being patient. you’re not losing me. i may not be an “author” in the way that word sounds, but i am still someone who tells stories when they can’t hold them in any longer.
all love,
always.