𝗣𝗢𝗘𝗧𝗥𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗔 𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗕𝗜𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗖𝗢𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗘, 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗬.
━━ To write is to pour one's soul into paper by means of ink. Or in modern cases, by means of a keyboard. Nonetheless, it is through writi...
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an ocean so beautiful, so vast a refuge from all troubles besetting the placidity that of us, a sight for sore eyes, worried minds an ocean so beautiful, so vast
and so deadly.
so deadly that one drowns without realizing drowning towards his unfaltering misery which have kept him from believing— believing in the magic of this ocean of passion
this ocean of passion he so trusted and took refuge in so sure and blinded it would keep his miseries from getting in that he had forgotten a terror veiled by bliss and wonder— a terror so profound and would eventually wander until it comes out a large tower, alive, ready to devour that motionless body of his that has already succumbed to this terror
its darkness fills him to the brim, consumes his heart, his very soul and once this terror's hunger is sated— temporarily—it leaves him unblinking, devoid of everything but grief and a vague sensation of emptiness that grows stronger day by day
he tries and tries but in lethargy he can't in stagnation only he dwells and cries. he tries and tries until he's forgotten to try with his tears running dry.
he cannot hope, nor can he mope how can he do anything? how can he do anything when he cannot? for one cannot do anything when there is nothing
