Category: wnq-writers


“The day I lost you my tongue felt like copper.

Salty and rusty and so so heavy it almost forced me to the ground.

The day I lost you my lungs were ready to give out.

I had forgotten how walking the same earth as you kept me alive.

The day I lost you I found myself.

It was so hard, to remember who I was aside from the person who loved you.

I’m still not sure, darling, but I’ll keep on searching.

One breath at a time.”

Isabelle F.

This is what love does: It makes you want to r…

This is what love does: It makes you want to rewrite the world. It makes you want to choose the characters, build the scenery, guide the plot. The person you love sits across from you, and you want to do everything in your power to make it possible, endlessly possible. And when it’s just the two of you, alone in a room, you can pretend that this is how it is, this is how it will be.


“When I say I’m yours I don’t mean I belong to you like a property.

That’s too easy, darling. Too plain for this love that we’ve crafted.

When I say I’m yours I mean my soul chose yours to make a home with.

It means my every heartbeat pounds to the rhythm of your smile, and my every breath aches to fan over your skin.

It means your name is etched on my eyelids so I can take you with me when dreams come to carry me away.

It means I’ll stay even when everything else is fading away.”

Isabelle F.

What’s just a coincidence for you that you sti…

What’s just a coincidence for you that you still find me in your way, is a long wait for me to get found by you.


“You swore the future would wait for us.

Swore it would be enough to hold onto sandcastle promises and volatile tides.

Swore the days we spent in bliss would turn into an eternity built together.

But, darling, time flew by so fast we never even had a chance to catch it.”

Isabelle F.


“In the end the words we didn’t speak were the noose that took the last breath of whatever love was left between us.”

Isabelle F.


Recipe for writing

I. Take a broken heart and bleed it out until every atom of the universe feels at peace.

II. Add the gift to create new realities and sprinkle on just a smidge of melancholy from any yesterday that left you yearning.

III. Stir in hope and stardust melted into blind faith in happy endings. Bring it to a simmer.

IV. Serve with a side of passion and a generous portion of intrinsic, painful honesty.

V. Let it all roll down your throat; ink will heal you while opening up new scars.

Isabelle F.


“We’re fueled by the tomorrow we’ve crafted in our heads.

It keeps us going at full speed with nothing to slow us down.

But it’ll be alright, darling.

We’ll crash and burn magnificently, and the wreckage left behind will be the perfect ending to our pretend love story.”

Isabelle F.


“To you I’m just collateral damage in your endless battle to find yourself.”

Isabelle F.


“It has always seemed strange to me how you tape all your memories to the walls of your room. As if they would slip away if you didn’t see them every day.

The ticket from our first concert together that still has indie music seeping from the paper and ink.

The picture of the Eiffel tower you took in the winter during a particularly dark acid trip.

The plastic entry bracelet from the camping site where you got so wasted with your friends you lost the night sky.

You cover your walls with tokens of happy days. Tokens of love and adventure. Tokens of heartbreak.

But souvenirs can only last for so long, darling, and, loneliness clashes horribly with white paint.”

Isabelle F.