diary post

Twilight feels like stepping between worlds—the sky bruised with golds and purples, everything softer, stranger. I wandered to the old orchard today, where the trees lean like they’re sharing secrets.

Wearing my little white dress, I felt like a ghost, crunching frost-bitten leaves beneath my boots. I bit into an apple, sharp and wild, its taste like sunlight from another time.

A crow’s cry startled me, reminding me of the girl from my dream last night. She didn’t speak, just held out her hand, golden light in her eyes. I woke up gripping air, her presence lingering like a shadow.

On my way back, I found a black feather shimmering blue in the fading light. It felt like a charm, so I braided it into my hair. Now the night hums beyond my window, the stars scattered like forgotten secrets.

Sometimes I think we’re all part of a story we don’t fully understand. Hold your dreams close—they might be the key.