A Humphrey Lanham tends to procrastinate, take pictures of cats, and occasionally write. They are a graduate of Odyssey. Their household includes (but is not limited to) humans, cats, houseplants that thrive on neglect, friendly feral rosebushes, and a murder of crows.
Once, there was a forest who longed for a child to soothe the ache of his loneliness. His sorrow grew with each passing season as children from the neighboring towns would wander into his trees only to wander back out again.
I promise you this, my love: on the day of our wedding, you shall be dressed in the most beautiful silk, spun with love and care and woven into the softest of fabrics. If it rains, worry not, the sun will come out and your dress shall glint as if diamonds were woven into it.
My first memory of Grief was of Mother helping her grandmother with her corset of a ribcage. I stood there, transfixed, as Mother first undid the lacings of her dress.
By your hands, the petrolatum was smooth against my skin. Your fingers tracing the slick where the tears would fall. Your palms marking where the wings were to burst from my back, a cascade of feathers for flight that would not survive the flame.
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