nocryptographer

[nocryptographer]

The one who was there

Love,

In my messiest, saddest, craziest hour You call me beautiful

You amplify my highs And you soften my lows

This is me My restless mind, my wandering heart, my intense longing The worlds in my head I get lost in The girl who ventures into darkness, sometimes

Dramatic, pretentious, absent But love, I try

And even when I stray When I disappear You find me And you bring me home

My heart’s been around But to you it always returns

[nocryptographer]

For You, Exactly As You Are

You wake up tired, scroll bad news until it blurs. Answer emails, jaw clenched tight— or can’t even bear to look.

You say “I’m fine” with three tabs open—rent, repair, relief— and one on how to sleep through the stress, or how not to sleep all the time.

You forget. You snap. You soften. You try again.

If you are carrying children, parents, partners— meals, medications, moods— and no one asks how you’re doing, this is me asking.

Not just if you’re managing. If you’re okay. If you’ve been held, or fed, or even seen.

How are you, really?

If your brain jumps tracks mid-sentence, mid-plan, mid-dream— if the dishes feel impossible, if you forgot again and hate yourself for it— please hear this: you are not alone. Not at all.

This world wasn’t built for minds like yours, but that doesn’t mean yours is wrong. It means you’ve been trying to bloom through cracked concrete, drinking whatever rain you could reach, and still—still—you flowered.

If the world was made for standing without thinking, for walking without fear, for climbing stairs without pain, for seeing every sign, for hearing every word—

If holding a pen, a fork, a steering wheel costs more energy than you have, if you measure your day in spoons left, not hours passed—

you are not broken. You are not a burden. The burden is stairs with no ramp, streets that swallow wheels, silence when you ask for help.

If rest feels dangerous, if joy feels stolen, if you’re so used to pushing through you forgot how to just be— you’re not the only one.

The world wasn’t built for you. Not for most of us, was it? But you are here anyway, making it work how you can.

That is not failure. That is survival. That is a kind of brilliance.

You are not failing. You are not falling behind. You are responding to a world that punishes tenderness.

And still— you are kind. You are trying. You are here.

If you wonder whether I mean you, I do. Even if the voice says "not me," I still do.

Come as you are: tired, tangled, beautiful.

You don’t have to fix yourself to deserve rest. You don’t have to be better to be loved.

You already are loved.

Still.

Still.

[nocryptographer]

I can't believe it's been a full year since I wrote the first lines of Strange Highways. I know it's just a little fanfic but for me it was a life-changing re-discovery of the joy of writing, it was a journey to myself and who I am as a writer. I still love it so much, and if I ever accomplish my dreams as a writer, it will all come back to the time Cazador joined a heavy metal band.

[nocryptographer]

Hello inexplicable sadness of completing a story, my old friend.

Of completing a story

There they are, my words, my heart. Out in the open, like leaves on the wind. I scatter them, fragments of my soul, let them fly. And they fly.

I loved you, words. I loved you when you were still just synapses in my brain. I loved you when you kept me awake at night. I loved you when you found your form. I loved you when I laid you into existence. And I love you, still.

What are stories, if not magic? The most ancient, most primal form of sorcery. I make words, and my words become images in your brain. You make words, and your words become images in mine. It’s intimate, and it’s brave, and it’s wonderful.

We create beauty in each other’s brains. Magic.

I made a thing. I made a world. I made characters, and I felt their feelings, and I made someone feel their feelings. And it takes my breath away.

And when it’s complete, I grieve, and I rejoice. I will miss you. I will miss when you filled my mind, my days, my nights. Fly, my story, my baby. Fly!

It's a unique kind of pain with only one way to ease it. To tell another story. And another, and another, until the synapses burn out. It’s only when my stories are all told that I cease to be.

Nothing in the world will ever be more beautiful, more sacred to me than this.

[nocryptographer]

Perhaps I'm naive or overly romantic or unoriginal, but I believe in fundamental, ancient stories. Those that want to be told over and over.

A hero with a noble heart journeys through impossible challenges.

A villain finds their heart through redemption.

A girl/boy meets a boy/girl.

Family is found in a hopeless place and true friendship conquers all.

I believe there's something in us, something primal, that makes us navigate towards those stories, never growing tired of them.

[nocryptographer]

the lover’s almanac : part one.

[nocryptographer]

Severance haikus

Mark

My dead wife’s not dead The other me’s not helping It’s complicated

-

Helly

I fucking hate her The problem is she is me I will still kill her

-

Dylan

It’s breaking my heart I’ll never have the woman That’s already mine

-

Irving

First they killed my man Now they think they can have me Fight them with fire

[nocryptographer]

I wish to one day know how it feels To touch someone's heart the way you touched mine Gently Violently Irreversibly

[nocryptographer]

My characters cry a lot. They also spend an oddly large amount of time at balconies. I can't unsee this now.

[nocryptographer]

Some are born to move the world To live their fantasies But most of us just dream about The things we'd like to be

Sadder still to watch it die Than never to have known it For you, the blind who once could see The bell tolls for thee

(Rush: Losing It, 1982)

[nocryptographer]

Severance haikus

Mark

My dead wife’s not dead The other me’s not helping It’s complicated

-

Helly

I fucking hate her The problem is she is me I will still kill her

-

Dylan

It’s breaking my heart I’ll never have the woman That’s already mine

-

Irving

First they killed my man Now they think they can have me Fight them with fire

[nocryptographer]

Night Orchid

[nocryptographer]

Writer's block haiku

The world's not building My characters went on strike Time to go to bed

[nocryptographer]

Vellicaz : Symbiosis.

[nocryptographer]

Last line game

Thanks @alpydk, @strixamans and @shandoratheexplorer for tagging me!

This is from my latest published fic, The Part Of Me That's You:

Like you said, I can’t lose you, and you can’t lose me. We’re always with each other. My skin is your skin, my lips are your lips. We’re one. What we had was special, and don’t ever let anyone tell you it wasn’t real, because it was. Goodbye, my love, and good luck. And thank you. For everything. Yours, forever. Sandy

No pressure tags for @alwaysmauria, @lightsallout and @grenanigans

[nocryptographer]

Sometimes when I say "so what you been up to?" I actually mean "I miss you, but I don't want to say that I do because it sounds arrogant as I was the one who didn't keep in touch but it's not because I didn't want to, I just got lost in my thoughts until enough time had passed that I found it difficult to reach out but I do miss you, and you mean a lot to me still."

[nocryptographer]

Never, maybe

I’m okay today

accepting I’ll never know how your hair would feel if I buried my hands in it

you’ll never grab me by my wrists pin me against the wall kiss my neck

never

I’ll never know if you’d laugh at my jokes If you’d find me pretty in the morning

I’m okay with never

I still have my what if