between the lines: unknown no. ii
blooms through sorrow, even when it drowns her.
let me tell you something.
about someone.
ready?
read between the lines—
visible in her name is the joy she brings—soft and radiant, a quiet kind of light that lingers in the hearts of those she touches. she moves like a sea: deep, slow, never in a rush to arrive, always arriving exactly as she means to. the eldest among the three; the second among the four. but never above, just gently guiding with hands that never force, only offer.
she doesn’t cry only out of sympathy, but because sometimes, all she has left to give are her tears and silent prayers. her heart bruises easily, like a ripe fruit falling too soon from its branch—once it hits the ground, it breaks quietly, without asking to be noticed.
blue wraps around her like a jewel—shimmering—yet within her, there is jade: steady. pleading. trying to keep her anchored in green. in peace. in stillness. so she no longer chases impossible rainbows.
she laughs loudly, brightly, but her grief speaks in whispers. she listens like the sea listens—completely, without interruption. she carries the weight of others, yet shares so few of her own.
she has never longed for the whole sky, just for the sun to shine when the storm has passed.
she is loved, undeniably, yet her mind sometimes drifts into silent, empty corners, looking for words she cannot say. because even oceans feel empty sometimes. even the deepest waters search for meaning in their own quiet.
she is learning to find her voice—not the one shaped by expectation,
but the one she longs to sing in, the one she is still learning how to speak.
low. slow. real.
the kind that does not beg to be heard, but dares to be true.
do you know who she is?
author’s note:
— bled by @achilleusdeirdre
— twelfth of july, year 2025
— open to criticism; all echoes welcome.
— lowercase intended for signature writing.
The Ruin Script 
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