Gwen

she/her/hers, mad prophet

Summary

I have been your mother, your mystery, your cryptid; but I am just another girl made of flesh, my bones shivering under skin. Most of my life has been lived in the dark. I miss the sunlight.

I write. I cook. I garden. I dance. I sit under the moon and look up and wonder if the stars would want me. In fits and starts, I unfold myself again and reach across the gap, waiting to feel your hands in mine.

I have survived, but I am just beginning to live.

"me & me out of sync", inuday

Impressions

A bolt of inspiration in the night, the divinity of creation
A lost girl's journal, wanderings in the dark
Her hand on the pull chain of a lightbulb
Paper under a reading lamp glowing like honey
Old paperback books about stars and planets, black holes

The True Name

curtains of gauze cast in sunlight,
bleached lavender;
freckled stars and moons in orbit;
hair, soft curls in your fingers;
the smell of honey and thunderstorms,
your fingers around mine;
trembling in your ribcage,
your breath suspended in your stomach.

Recognition

Somewhat shy. People are strange.
Rambling, loosened thoughts. Slow, deep breaths.
Slowness in general. Patience, everything in its time.
Actually notices smells.
Over text: mixture of formal/stilted language and casual language, tends to drop a message and then disappear.