“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.” -Madeline Miller, “The Song Of Achilles.”


Message to Readers

earlier on the kitchen table i came across a poster for butterflies. it had been ripped out of the newspaper and it was double-sided, one written in irish the other in english. féileacán is the irish for butterfly in case you wanted to know :D
(republishing because i thought wtw had taken this down but it turns out i’m just ridiculous and unpublished it myself.)


June 29, 2020


place your palms against the curve of the earth and tell me how fast her heart beats.

do you remember the salt from the sea? wretched thing that you crawled yourself out of, gossamer wings dripping like drowned baby’s breath.

you sit yourself along the bath edge, harsh glow of the light against your brow and in the sink, your blood slips golden down the drain. against the milkiness of your leg, there is a head. hair brushes your calf, silky sound of their voice whining again.

“why must you have so many nosebleeds? do you have too much blood in that head of yours?” they ask. you nod once in answer and it’s like they hear the sloshing of it, the aborted whimsy in your temples, because they kiss the curve of your knee with whispery lips and shut up for the rest of the night.

hazy day, you laid out in the grass like this. on that wrist of yours, the heaven-scorched one, there sits a common blue butterfly. you remember how he watched them stirring around the low-born plants and upon each wing, you brush your lips. the ghost of him sits down beside you for it. he tries to hold your hand but he’s never had much of a mind for solidity.

 it is upon the storm-riddled hill that the sky splits itself open for you. there’s a mention of redemption, promises of sweetened nectar and honey-comb light and you swear that the quickening of your breath is no sign of betrayal, but the people you’ve met down here have started to offer libations every two seconds. they come back from the cliff-side with the wine drying sticky on their hands, and it’s like they can’t get enough of the stuff, scarlet liquid coughed over their fingers. you kiss their temples with tear-wet lips and memorize the curve of their cheeks. you call this gesture a fit of sentimentality. i call it remembering what’s worth living for.

“are you happy to be back?” they ask with shoddy smiles and burnt out eyes.

you think of all the things that made your stomach grow tight. “give it time and perhaps i will be.”

wasn’t it lying that got you cast out in the first place? clever girl.
i could not sleep last night and this is the product of such a thing :)


See History
  • June 29, 2020 - 1:54pm (Now Viewing)

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  • inanutshell

    disheartened i found this so late but glad to have even read it. the imagery you've managed to conjure.. the descriptions... simply amazing

    8 months ago
  • birthdaycandles

    ooh I also see here you’ve incorporated a little irish dialect into this piece as well ‘féileacán’ beautiful!! maith thú!

    8 months ago
  • birthdaycandles

    replying: aww ahaha ikr! this is one of the words i can never forget because my teacher was always telling the class to “bi ciúin!!” because we talked non-stop! lol i’m happy you enjoyed it :)

    8 months ago
  • naomi ling

    replying: thank you so much for your kind words! i adore WTW in the short time that i've been here, esp the fantastic people i've met. thank you <33

    9 months ago
  • amaryllis

    woah, the imagery and sensory details are so overwhelming and i really don't even know what just happened, but it's definitely amazing and the end gave me shivers. there's just too many gorgeous lines to choose one...

    9 months ago
  • N.

    the way you're able to describe sensory feelings in so few words is absolutely amazing. you set the scene so well and it's perfectly enchanting. very lovely work, and it's good to finally see the butterfly piece :)

    9 months ago
  • Deleted User

    This is the butterfly piece! It’s so beautiful pots! Really.

    9 months ago
  • Writing4Life

    This is incredible! A masterpiece!

    9 months ago
  • joella

    this is absolutely breathtaking. this piece flows seamlessly and yet the word choice feels so deliberate; it is upon the storm-riddled hill that the sky splits itself open for you. there’s a mention of redemption, promises of sweetened nectar and honey-comb light and you swear that the quickening of your breath is no sign of betrayal," wow.

    9 months ago