The story feels like a quiet moment shared between two people who understand loss, regret, and the strange tenderness of letting go. The crossing isn’t dramatic it’s calm, almost intimate and that calmness gives her room to finally speak about the life she kept postponing. The way she lists the joys she saved “for later” feels painfully familiar, like the kind of honesty that only arrives when there’s no more time left to pretend. Freyr listens without trying to fix anything, which makes his presence feel even more human. The boat itself seems to respond to her, growing lighter as she releases the parts of herself she never lived. And when he says someone has to carry what remains “after us,” it lands with a quiet truth about how our unfinished moments don’t just disappear. By the time she steps onto the far shore, something in her has softened, opened. The boat folding to return feels like a final, gentle breath a sign that her story has been heard.
You caught the quietness I was hoping would hold everything together - the calm, the restraint, the intimacy of not trying to resolve what can’t be resolved.
The idea of the boat growing lighter, and of something being carried “after us,” really matters to me. That sense that nothing is lost, only transferred, only held differently.
I’m grateful for how attentively you listened to the text. It feels like the story was met, not interpreted away.
This flowed like the sailboat in the wind… smoothly and warmly revealing complete surrender as the moment went.
I had to look up some Nordic mythology to understand the boat’s name. Casually dropped yet carrying a hidden deep impact. I wasn’t surprised by what I found, it only added to the impact.
This was beautifully written. I resonated with the end because she left behind the things that she wanted most but kept holding onto. I resonated strongly with her life story during the ride. I am very much enjoying your writings.
Myth with its sleeves rolled up—no thunder, no destiny monologues, just the quiet logistics of unfinished lives. I love how responsibility, not fear, is what delays the question of his name, and how the magic arrives without announcing itself. Skíðblaðnir as a vessel for deferred joy is devastating in the gentlest way: expandable, weightless, and patient. A story about how nothing we postpone is ever truly lost, just waiting for the right crossing.
All those “I’ll do it later” moments finally getting picked up and carried somewhere else. Mythy, calm, and a little brutal in a quiet way. It made me stare at my own saved-for-later pile for a second.
Thank you Asuka, and glad that it resonated. I think most ‘later’s moments don’t disappear - they get stored somewhere heavier than memory. Skíðblaðnir felt like a way to imagine that storage not as loss, but as patience. The quiet brutality comes from realizing how much we’re carrying without noticing.
A soft, beautiful way of speaking about all the moments we kept for “later” and how quietly they wait for us.
Thank you Aham for noticing concept. Appreciate your resonance
old, wethered, GREY Stones,,,, handcarved from BIG STRONG FINGERS…. PLACED.
She wandered with her small , beautiful Feets over the grasy Forrest… a few Flowers SMELLED DELIGHT … in this early, early Springs LIGHT.
They met. Following FOOTSTEPS, long forgotten…. But ALWAYS KNOWEN…. Whispered inside this FORRESTS BELOVED MOOSY GREEN…
Creative and conquered words
A short but unexpectedly philosophical conversation with a taxi driver,
after a long workday,
when you only wanted to get home
and somehow ended up talking about your entire life.
The story feels like a quiet moment shared between two people who understand loss, regret, and the strange tenderness of letting go. The crossing isn’t dramatic it’s calm, almost intimate and that calmness gives her room to finally speak about the life she kept postponing. The way she lists the joys she saved “for later” feels painfully familiar, like the kind of honesty that only arrives when there’s no more time left to pretend. Freyr listens without trying to fix anything, which makes his presence feel even more human. The boat itself seems to respond to her, growing lighter as she releases the parts of herself she never lived. And when he says someone has to carry what remains “after us,” it lands with a quiet truth about how our unfinished moments don’t just disappear. By the time she steps onto the far shore, something in her has softened, opened. The boat folding to return feels like a final, gentle breath a sign that her story has been heard.
Thank you for this reading.
You caught the quietness I was hoping would hold everything together - the calm, the restraint, the intimacy of not trying to resolve what can’t be resolved.
The idea of the boat growing lighter, and of something being carried “after us,” really matters to me. That sense that nothing is lost, only transferred, only held differently.
I’m grateful for how attentively you listened to the text. It feels like the story was met, not interpreted away.
This flowed like the sailboat in the wind… smoothly and warmly revealing complete surrender as the moment went.
I had to look up some Nordic mythology to understand the boat’s name. Casually dropped yet carrying a hidden deep impact. I wasn’t surprised by what I found, it only added to the impact.
Such a beautiful piece. Thank you 🙏
Thank you Marwa.
You noticed the quietest thread, the one woven in, not displayed.
That kind of attention is rare, and it’s beautiful.
Thank you Odr so beautifully written
Bittersweet without any decoration...whatever I attempt to write now, will not narrate to how your writing (space) feels.
Thank you Karin
This is one of the best evaluation I could possibly receive.
Quiet, precise, and spacious.
The boat as a vessel for what’s left unfinished really works. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you Samu
Flashy vision unexpectedly turned to be meaningful work
Beautifully written.
Thankd you for reading
This was beautifully written. I resonated with the end because she left behind the things that she wanted most but kept holding onto. I resonated strongly with her life story during the ride. I am very much enjoying your writings.
Thank you Dorie. Glad to see you in withing my works and resonating.
On this tetx I think that tension - between wanting and holding on, is where most of us actually live.
Had to copy and paste Skíðblaðnir! I haven’t yet figured out how to do the accents on my phone!
Thank you Dipti, appreciate it )) always glad to meet you here )
Thank you for your wonderful writing.
Myth with its sleeves rolled up—no thunder, no destiny monologues, just the quiet logistics of unfinished lives. I love how responsibility, not fear, is what delays the question of his name, and how the magic arrives without announcing itself. Skíðblaðnir as a vessel for deferred joy is devastating in the gentlest way: expandable, weightless, and patient. A story about how nothing we postpone is ever truly lost, just waiting for the right crossing.
Thank you again Dipti ).
You named exactly what I was trying to let stay quiet - the way myth works when it’s busy carrying things instead of proclaiming them.
Exactly. Once myth starts proclaiming, it drops the cargo. Silence is how it keeps its balance.
Beautiful. And I love the quiet acknowledgement with no pity nor consoling. Validation goes a long way in lightening a load.
Thank you, and exactly. No consolation needed, just recognition
You are a hell of a writer. Seriously. This was amazing. I had to look up some of the Norse lore, but I was floored by this piece. Bravo
Thank you Aynsley.
Honestly, it was only a short spark, a quick depiction of one of my visions.
All those “I’ll do it later” moments finally getting picked up and carried somewhere else. Mythy, calm, and a little brutal in a quiet way. It made me stare at my own saved-for-later pile for a second.
Thank you Asuka, and glad that it resonated. I think most ‘later’s moments don’t disappear - they get stored somewhere heavier than memory. Skíðblaðnir felt like a way to imagine that storage not as loss, but as patience. The quiet brutality comes from realizing how much we’re carrying without noticing.
This has rendered me incapable of words other than sobbing incoherence.
Beautiful.
Thank you Smutty,
so then it landed where it needed to...
I think so. Even if it was painful.