letterstolovedones-blog1
she thinks she's a writer
perhaps she sometimes is.
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cinderella marries the prince
and it’s… fine. The prince is great! They’re in love, he’s very sweet and passionate, writing her poems and songs, giving her anything she wants. The time she spends with her husband is great.
but cinderella is not royalty, her family was noble but she never spent time in those circles. She’s used to being busy, she’s used to cooking and cleaning and mending. There are hours, days, where she has nothing to do.
time passes. cinderella learns the fancy lady type of needlework. Learns to ride horses. Reads a lot.
as is normal for royalty at the time, they travel and are hosted by nobles or stay at castles owned by the king. But even that variety begins to become routine. The prince is distracted, there’s a lot of young women living and working on their route. Daughters of nobles. Younger and prettier with soft hands that have never done a day’s work.
cinderella needs something to spend her time on, and there’s a part of her thinking a couple-only trip might get her husband’s attention again, so she suggests making an old castle that’s fallen into disrepair their “project.” It was built in the time when castles were made to be defensible, so it’s quite sturdy, but it’s overgrown and secluded. The prince doesn’t know why his family stopped living there either. A hundred years ago it was their summer home.
so they go. And they work. And for a while it’s great! But when they leave for winter cinderella’s husband forgets her once again. cinderella resolves to make the best of her life and stop worrying about a man who has gotten what he wanted from her.
summer comes again and this time cinderella goes alone to the old castle (minus staff, of course, but cinderella manages to narrow it down to only repair workers and one maid). She can cook and clean and mend again, but this time it’s her own choice. She is happy.
this summer they make more progress on repairs. The workers say that most of it can be salvaged, except one tower that’s been completely overgrown with vines and briars. It will have to come down, eventually, but for now it can be safely ignored.
cinderella has more free time now. The old castle has a surprisingly untouched library, though time and moisture have damaged many of the books. Behind a collection of greek poetry cinderella finds an old diary. Very old, in fact, at least a hundred years. It’s rude to read a diary, of course, but whoever wrote this is long dead, and cinderella is bored, so…
from the description of activities the author looks to have been nobility. Maybe even a princess. She’s sensitive and sweet and smarter than she seems to realize. If circumstances had been different cinderella wishes they could have been friends…
after the summer ends cinderella returns to her husband. He’s spending a lot of time with a young musician and cinderella can’t even work up the energy to care. She does some research about the castle and the family she’s married into, finds out the name of the princess who wrote the diary.
aurora. Cursed and forgotten. She died young, they say, in a plague that also took out the castle staff and her own parents. Luckily they avoided a succession crisis, but not so lucky for the dead.
time passes. cinderella goes to the old castle again and again, even out of season. Soon enough all that remains to be done is the old tower, and the builders say they should tear it down and fill the gaps before it gets cold.
one night cinderella is restless. The princess from the diary had been fond of that tower, and cinderella is far more attached to a dead woman than she ought to be. She gets out of bed, reads by candlelight, and finally goes to walk the empty halls.
she finds herself going to the tower. Pushing past the vines that don’t seem so troublesome really. They almost part before her. The stairs are perfectly intact, the door at the top is already cracked open. As if she should have done this years ago, cinderella steps into aurora’s bedroom.
she’s as beautiful as the stories say. And sitting under her hands, crossed across her stomach as it rises and falls, is a book of greek poetry.
years later, people will tell the story of cinderella as a cautionary one. Don’t seek above your station. Don’t marry for prestige. After all, a girl who grew up as a servant once married the crown prince, and disappeared after only three years. She ran away, they say, she couldn’t handle the lifestyle.
two old women who run a bookshop together agree with the lesson. Marrying for the wrong reasons never ends well. It’s best to wait for someone you have things in common with, shared interests.
or, failing that, the more linguistic of the two says, wait a decade or ten for someone to fall in love with you from your diary.
her partner laughs and hits her with the socks she is mending.
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You duck and you bow and you bend.
But you never break.
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I have to keep reminding myself that I don't have to punish me
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i guess my type of depression is not i want to die but just i don't have the will to survive anymore.
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08 june 2021
dear annie,
thank you for reorienting me on how love should feel light and easy.
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May 10, 2021 at 00:45
Sometimes it feels like your bones dont fit and there is too much skin sagging muscles atrophied everything cricking clanking making noise in the quiet too much noise
Ghosts haunting poltergeists banging clinking clanking in the empty hollow expanse you identify as you
Sometimes you think you have found peace but in the wee hours of the morning you hear a crick and a clank and a clink and a thunk within
Ans it's hollow and empty and it echoes
You left too much with people who didn't know how to return the love you give who didn't understand why you gave so much couldn't but wanted to take and take and take
You sometimes think you're whole and you're fixed and you're okay but it gets quiet and you notice the cricking and the clanking and the clinking and the thunks
And you remember
You're not yet whole
Not yet fixed
And you wonder what the fuck you're doing
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i've taken to
collecting all the little things that make me happy
plucking them out
litte stars, crystalized,
encapsulated, safe
mine
little things that make me happy
tuck them away, tuck them in
for later, saving them
for rainy days, a little some thing
maybe this is what self-love is
doing things for your future self,
having them in front of you, unknown and unseen
but having their back anyway
i don't think i'm making much sense to anyone who isn't me
but let me tuck this away, too
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kinda wanna die for a lil bit
just to see what it feels like for a lil bit
just to be nothing for a lil bit
just to be free for a lil bit
for it to all stop for a lil bit
let my soul breathe for a lil bit
dead but actually deathless for a lil bit
one with the universe for a lil bit
life choking me up a lil bit
struggle bus rocking too much back and forth a lil bit
driving getting hard a lil bit
captain oh captain just take it easy for a lil bit
jesus fucking christ why cant you give me just a lil bit
leave me the fuck alone for a lil bit
tired of peptalking myself in my head in lil bits
fuck that shit im outta here
but just for a lil bit
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2nd August 2020; 1:50 am.
i realize my posts might come across as sad or lonely.
i’m not. not really.
i just feel very contemplative.
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her name was sophie. she was french. she flew all the way to see me. i asked her, “why? why would you do this for me?” and i told her how i don’t think i’m very much to look at. i have dark skin, a short stature. i am neither skinny nor conventionally pretty. if i have anything going for me, it’s that i have a very bright smile that always shines through my eyes when it’s genuine. and then she laughed at me in response, told me, “what are you talking about? you’re the most wonderful person in the world.”
2nd August 2020; 1:45 am
i was going to write something to this girl who appeared in my dream but i forgot what i was gonna say
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i don’t remember writing this
where are you
where are you
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2nd August 2020; 1:45 am
i was going to write something to this girl who appeared in my dream but i forgot what i was gonna say
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17th June 2020; 5:27 pm
dear cyrah monique.
it’s sad that half the time we were together, i felt like you wanted something else other than me and now that i left you want nothing more than for me to come back.
i’m sorry.
i don’t think i can come back.
i don’t think i want to.
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26th, March 2020. 00:44AM.
dear self.
march 25th was a particularly crazy day. you’d had a scare about coming into contact with a possible coronavirus carrier and you’d got screamed at by a crying law school dean for speaking your mind.
who would have thought that you’d get to this point?
or maybe it was already predetermined the moment you were born?
did the stars and planets align to make you into the person that you are now? too vocal, too loud, too careless.
well, i write this to you to tell you one thing:
i am proud of who you are.
and i love you.
no matter what.
you are doing okay, self. you’re doing good. you’re becoming a person that all your past self would be proud to be, had they known you’d turn out this way.
and fuck it if that sentence seemed grammatically incorrect. it isn’t. but if it is, then fuck that, too.
so was this day all predetermined? are you just following the track that your life is supposed to go? is it dictated by your aries sun and moon? or is it your leo rising? or perhaps your pisces stellium?
i cant tell you. i’m still too lazy to delve deeper into astrology to find out.
but what i can do right now is to repeat this:
don’t be afraid to be who you are. and don’t forget to listen to the people around you, too.
and never, ever forget why you do what you do.
to help people. to be a better person. to make this world a better place. to do what is right.
because when you do, there comes happiness.
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