Today, I Encountered A Little Black Girl Who Looked Frail And Seemed Timid, And It Nearly Brought Me

The most significant discoveries and best moments of my life have often happened by chance, contrary to popular belief. Whenever I look back, I struggle to pinpoint the exact moment they occurred. These experiences, in some way, altered the course of my life, yet I can’t quite remember how they unfolded. I never actively sought them out; they just simply found me.I’m talking about moments like how I got into reading, how I discovered my love for writing, my first relationship, my current friendship, the experiences that broadened my perspective, and the moments that defined my beliefs.

—A lady and her quill, Journal of wandering thoughts.

𝐻𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠 🌺

𝐵𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑒𝑠𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑢𝑦𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝘩𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑣𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑣𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠.

● 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑎☕

● 𝐿𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑎 🕯️

● 𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑎 🪞

● 𝐶𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑒 🧺

● 𝐸𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑒𝑠𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐🧚🏻‍♀️

● 𝐶𝑜𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑒𝑠𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐 🎀

● 𝐶𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑎𝑒𝑠𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐 ☁️

● 𝐺𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑎🍀

● 𝑅𝑜𝑦𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑒 👑

● 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑎 🔭

● 𝐵𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑒 𝑎𝑒𝑠𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐 💅🏼

𝑆𝑜 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑡𝘩 𝑜𝑓 𝑀𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑎 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝘩𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝘩𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑣𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑡. °𓏲⋆🌿.

𝐿𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑙: https://www.tumblr.com/a-lady-and-her-quill/781024127509299200/hey?source=share

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦. 𝘐𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥’𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦.

—Ephesians 6:13-18

The city was silently bloating in the hot sun, rotting like the thousands of bodies that lay where they had fallen in street battles. An oppressive, hot wind blew from the southeast, carrying with it the putrefying stench of decay. And outside the city walls, Death itself waited— in the persons of Titus, son of Vespasian, and sixty thousand legionnaires, who were anxious to gut the City of God.

—Francine Rivers, A Voice in the Wind (Mark of the Lion series).

𝑇𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝐴 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑎 𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝘩𝑒’𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑑. 𝑃𝑢𝑟𝑒-𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟.

𝑇𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛, 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑜𝑙𝑑, 𝑊𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑛 𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑑, 𝑎 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑. 𝐻𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑜𝑟, 𝐴 𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑜’𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒.

—A lady and her quill, Courage Worn in Scarlet and Green

“She was still a girl, a slight lovely girl who lay in bed and ate chocolates, a girl whose hair smelled like hyacinth and whose white scarves fluttered jauntily in the breeze; a girl as bewitching, and clever, as any girl who ever lived.”

― Donna Tartt, The Secret History

Sometimes I wonder if people even realize how cruel they can be without saying a word. The way they look at me—cold, dismissive, like I’m something to laugh at or pity. It’s not always about what they say; sometimes it’s just the way they carry themselves around me, like I’m less. I feel overlooked all the time, like I’m just floating in the background, waiting for someone to actually see me. And I hate how much I want to be seen, especially by him. I hate how I catch myself hoping for even a glance from him. It makes me feel pathetic, like I’m betraying myself just to feel worthy for a moment. These past few days, I’ve been so angry. Just simmering beneath the surface. I keep snapping in my head, getting irritated at everything. I’m starting to feel like the angry little girl I worked so hard to bury, the one who, for years, carried the weight of her father’s rage. I hate how deeply I feel things, how sensitive I am. Lately, I’ve been drowning. Not in a river, but under the weight of never feeling satisfied with life.

—A lady and Her Quill, Letters to Dead Children: Ophelia's Journal Entries