Katiesville 🦄
@katiesville.bsky.social
A Quintessential Philomath 📚📍| Digital Soul in Motion | Author | Freelance Writer • Tech Enthusiast | Storyteller • eBooks
https://linktr.ee/katiesville
https://linktr.ee/katiesville
To grow is to betray the person you once were. And yet, betrayal is the wrong word; because what you are really doing is honoring the parts of yourself that wanted more, that refused to stay small. It hurts, yes. But it also liberates. You are not meant to stay loyal to your own limitations.
August 25, 2025 at 9:50 PM
To grow is to betray the person you once were. And yet, betrayal is the wrong word; because what you are really doing is honoring the parts of yourself that wanted more, that refused to stay small. It hurts, yes. But it also liberates. You are not meant to stay loyal to your own limitations.
Ordinary days make romance films feel unbearably cliché, their stories too neat for the mess of living. But when the weight of a depressive spell settles in, I return to them. I let the tears fall, let myself believe in impossible tenderness, in love that saves without asking anything back.
August 23, 2025 at 9:47 AM
Ordinary days make romance films feel unbearably cliché, their stories too neat for the mess of living. But when the weight of a depressive spell settles in, I return to them. I let the tears fall, let myself believe in impossible tenderness, in love that saves without asking anything back.
We rarely notice the day a habit becomes a memory. The coffee shared every Sunday. The nightly goodnight text. The way your name sounded in their mouth. These rituals dissolve without announcement, leaving you to wonder how many moments you’ve lived through without realising they were the last.
August 18, 2025 at 10:19 PM
We rarely notice the day a habit becomes a memory. The coffee shared every Sunday. The nightly goodnight text. The way your name sounded in their mouth. These rituals dissolve without announcement, leaving you to wonder how many moments you’ve lived through without realising they were the last.
If I love you, I will not write you into the sun. I will write you into the weather; the kind that comes unannounced and rearranges the world in its image.
Rain will not ask permission before it falls; neither will I, before I tell you the truth.
Rain will not ask permission before it falls; neither will I, before I tell you the truth.
August 14, 2025 at 8:30 AM
If I love you, I will not write you into the sun. I will write you into the weather; the kind that comes unannounced and rearranges the world in its image.
Rain will not ask permission before it falls; neither will I, before I tell you the truth.
Rain will not ask permission before it falls; neither will I, before I tell you the truth.
There is a universe where I am soft and unafraid.
I laugh too loudly in cafés, leave books open on the floor, never check the mirror before leaving the house.
I am loved there, not despite my untidiness, but because of it.
I laugh too loudly in cafés, leave books open on the floor, never check the mirror before leaving the house.
I am loved there, not despite my untidiness, but because of it.
August 13, 2025 at 8:36 AM
There is a universe where I am soft and unafraid.
I laugh too loudly in cafés, leave books open on the floor, never check the mirror before leaving the house.
I am loved there, not despite my untidiness, but because of it.
I laugh too loudly in cafés, leave books open on the floor, never check the mirror before leaving the house.
I am loved there, not despite my untidiness, but because of it.
Some days I feel like I’ve lived too many lives already.
Like I’ve been the caretaker,
the lover,
the ghost,
the stranger,
and now I’m just a collection of people I used to be, trying to decide which one deserves the rest of my years.
Like I’ve been the caretaker,
the lover,
the ghost,
the stranger,
and now I’m just a collection of people I used to be, trying to decide which one deserves the rest of my years.
August 13, 2025 at 8:34 AM
Some days I feel like I’ve lived too many lives already.
Like I’ve been the caretaker,
the lover,
the ghost,
the stranger,
and now I’m just a collection of people I used to be, trying to decide which one deserves the rest of my years.
Like I’ve been the caretaker,
the lover,
the ghost,
the stranger,
and now I’m just a collection of people I used to be, trying to decide which one deserves the rest of my years.
I laugh at romance like it’s a stranger, yet I’ve been leaving the door unlocked my whole life.
August 13, 2025 at 8:33 AM
I laugh at romance like it’s a stranger, yet I’ve been leaving the door unlocked my whole life.
There’s a certain kind of grief that doesn’t hurt — it hollows. You walk around with echoes where feelings used to live.
August 13, 2025 at 8:15 AM
There’s a certain kind of grief that doesn’t hurt — it hollows. You walk around with echoes where feelings used to live.
It started as a game.
A little revenge. A little fun.
But nothing stayed little for long.
Reckoning is a story of secrets, obsession, lies.
and what happens when the plan spirals out of your hands
and into your heart.
selar.com/0a7792
A little revenge. A little fun.
But nothing stayed little for long.
Reckoning is a story of secrets, obsession, lies.
and what happens when the plan spirals out of your hands
and into your heart.
selar.com/0a7792
Buy Reckoning by Katiesville on Selar
She planned the perfect revenge.What she didn’t plan… was falling in love.When Shirley finds out her boyfriend is cheating, she doesn’t spiral.She plots.A fake name. A new gym membership. A carefully ...
selar.com
July 8, 2025 at 11:13 AM
It started as a game.
A little revenge. A little fun.
But nothing stayed little for long.
Reckoning is a story of secrets, obsession, lies.
and what happens when the plan spirals out of your hands
and into your heart.
selar.com/0a7792
A little revenge. A little fun.
But nothing stayed little for long.
Reckoning is a story of secrets, obsession, lies.
and what happens when the plan spirals out of your hands
and into your heart.
selar.com/0a7792
A little light. A little chaos. A lot of me. 🍀💕
July 8, 2025 at 6:59 AM
A little light. A little chaos. A lot of me. 🍀💕
“The First Time I Knew”
There was a time
when the world felt safe in my hands,
when laughter didn’t echo with grief,
and sleep came without bargaining.
I used to think
pain had a warning label.
That heartbreak made a sound.
That people only left
when they said goodbye.
There was a time
when the world felt safe in my hands,
when laughter didn’t echo with grief,
and sleep came without bargaining.
I used to think
pain had a warning label.
That heartbreak made a sound.
That people only left
when they said goodbye.
July 8, 2025 at 6:55 AM
“The First Time I Knew”
There was a time
when the world felt safe in my hands,
when laughter didn’t echo with grief,
and sleep came without bargaining.
I used to think
pain had a warning label.
That heartbreak made a sound.
That people only left
when they said goodbye.
There was a time
when the world felt safe in my hands,
when laughter didn’t echo with grief,
and sleep came without bargaining.
I used to think
pain had a warning label.
That heartbreak made a sound.
That people only left
when they said goodbye.
That’s how my love for baking is dying,
not with a bang, but with quiet neglect.
And it hurts more than I say out loud.
No big reason. Just life.
Survival. Exhaustion.
Not enough time. Not enough tools. Not enough me.
not with a bang, but with quiet neglect.
And it hurts more than I say out loud.
No big reason. Just life.
Survival. Exhaustion.
Not enough time. Not enough tools. Not enough me.
June 26, 2025 at 8:02 AM
That’s how my love for baking is dying,
not with a bang, but with quiet neglect.
And it hurts more than I say out loud.
No big reason. Just life.
Survival. Exhaustion.
Not enough time. Not enough tools. Not enough me.
not with a bang, but with quiet neglect.
And it hurts more than I say out loud.
No big reason. Just life.
Survival. Exhaustion.
Not enough time. Not enough tools. Not enough me.
I wish there was a manual for love.
Something that warns you about how intense it gets.
The way it consumes you, cracks you open, teaches you things you didn’t sign up to learn.
No two loves are the same.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, can really prepare you.
Something that warns you about how intense it gets.
The way it consumes you, cracks you open, teaches you things you didn’t sign up to learn.
No two loves are the same.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, can really prepare you.
June 24, 2025 at 7:12 AM
I wish there was a manual for love.
Something that warns you about how intense it gets.
The way it consumes you, cracks you open, teaches you things you didn’t sign up to learn.
No two loves are the same.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, can really prepare you.
Something that warns you about how intense it gets.
The way it consumes you, cracks you open, teaches you things you didn’t sign up to learn.
No two loves are the same.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, can really prepare you.
I see you.
I see the cracks, the strength it took to speak through them, the softness you’ve had to armor, the pain you’ve swallowed just to keep moving.
I see the cracks, the strength it took to speak through them, the softness you’ve had to armor, the pain you’ve swallowed just to keep moving.
June 20, 2025 at 1:33 PM
I see you.
I see the cracks, the strength it took to speak through them, the softness you’ve had to armor, the pain you’ve swallowed just to keep moving.
I see the cracks, the strength it took to speak through them, the softness you’ve had to armor, the pain you’ve swallowed just to keep moving.
Mornings like this...
I wake up with the weight of everything
I haven’t said.
The to-do lists I never finish.
The dreams I’ve shelved for later.
The ache I still carry in silence.
My chest feels crowded.
My breath, borrowed.
And yet,
Here I am.
Alive.
Trying.
Softly.
I wake up with the weight of everything
I haven’t said.
The to-do lists I never finish.
The dreams I’ve shelved for later.
The ache I still carry in silence.
My chest feels crowded.
My breath, borrowed.
And yet,
Here I am.
Alive.
Trying.
Softly.
June 18, 2025 at 6:25 AM
Mornings like this...
I wake up with the weight of everything
I haven’t said.
The to-do lists I never finish.
The dreams I’ve shelved for later.
The ache I still carry in silence.
My chest feels crowded.
My breath, borrowed.
And yet,
Here I am.
Alive.
Trying.
Softly.
I wake up with the weight of everything
I haven’t said.
The to-do lists I never finish.
The dreams I’ve shelved for later.
The ache I still carry in silence.
My chest feels crowded.
My breath, borrowed.
And yet,
Here I am.
Alive.
Trying.
Softly.
Sometimes I feel like I’m floating in a world full of noise, quietly hoping to find someone who sees the soft in me before the strong. Someone who doesn’t run from silence or softness.
If you’re out there too, feeling a little alone in your depth… maybe we can be gentle company for each other.
If you’re out there too, feeling a little alone in your depth… maybe we can be gentle company for each other.
June 18, 2025 at 5:49 AM
Sometimes I feel like I’m floating in a world full of noise, quietly hoping to find someone who sees the soft in me before the strong. Someone who doesn’t run from silence or softness.
If you’re out there too, feeling a little alone in your depth… maybe we can be gentle company for each other.
If you’re out there too, feeling a little alone in your depth… maybe we can be gentle company for each other.
Being deeply sensitive is both a gift and a weight.
It’s beautiful, and brutal.
You feel the fine print of life.
The hidden tones.
The unspoken hurts.
The energy in the room before anyone says a word.
And when you love? You give all of you. Not out of obligation...
It’s beautiful, and brutal.
You feel the fine print of life.
The hidden tones.
The unspoken hurts.
The energy in the room before anyone says a word.
And when you love? You give all of you. Not out of obligation...
June 18, 2025 at 5:38 AM
Being deeply sensitive is both a gift and a weight.
It’s beautiful, and brutal.
You feel the fine print of life.
The hidden tones.
The unspoken hurts.
The energy in the room before anyone says a word.
And when you love? You give all of you. Not out of obligation...
It’s beautiful, and brutal.
You feel the fine print of life.
The hidden tones.
The unspoken hurts.
The energy in the room before anyone says a word.
And when you love? You give all of you. Not out of obligation...
Hi Bluesky 🌬️🕊️
I’m Katie — I write soft things for heavy days.
Just dropped my first e-book After the Scroll.
It’s for anyone who’s ever tried to heal with WiFi.
Come for the feels, stay for the fragments.
Let’s vibe.
#NewHere #WriterSky #AfterTheScroll
I’m Katie — I write soft things for heavy days.
Just dropped my first e-book After the Scroll.
It’s for anyone who’s ever tried to heal with WiFi.
Come for the feels, stay for the fragments.
Let’s vibe.
#NewHere #WriterSky #AfterTheScroll
June 16, 2025 at 1:19 PM
Hi Bluesky 🌬️🕊️
I’m Katie — I write soft things for heavy days.
Just dropped my first e-book After the Scroll.
It’s for anyone who’s ever tried to heal with WiFi.
Come for the feels, stay for the fragments.
Let’s vibe.
#NewHere #WriterSky #AfterTheScroll
I’m Katie — I write soft things for heavy days.
Just dropped my first e-book After the Scroll.
It’s for anyone who’s ever tried to heal with WiFi.
Come for the feels, stay for the fragments.
Let’s vibe.
#NewHere #WriterSky #AfterTheScroll