In This Castle

recent posts

about

🕯️ About the Castle I am the castle. These halls creak with memory. Some walls have wept. Some still do. Each room you enter here each piece of writing—is something I couldn’t keep inside any longer. My thoughts live like dust in the corners. My stories breathe through the cracks. You’re not just reading… you’re wandering through me. You’ll find: Diary pages dressed up as poems Holy things broken and glittering on the floor Flirty whispers tucked between grief There is pain here. But there is also hope. Somewhere between the ache and the softness, the candle never quite goes out. If you’ve come looking for something quiet and real—welcome. I won’t give you answers. I’ll give you rooms. Some may be locked. Some might know your name. Stay a little while. Or longer.
Dear Joseph,

Dear Joseph,

I attempted to cook the Baked Ziti today.

I remember telling you that if I ever got really upset with you, all you had to do is make me this dish and all is forgiven.

I guess you forgot.

I did everything correctly.

I put the oven to 400°, I added the extra spices you usually do, I even did the cheesy breads how you like them (slightly undercooked).

None of it tasted the same, none I enjoyed.

It brought me sadness. I cried over the pasta. I cried because it didn’t taste the same. I cried over the emptiness I felt.  I cried because I don’t think I’ll ever have the Baked Ziti the way you make it.

I don’t think you’ll ever make it for me again.

Posted in

Leave a comment