Pitch black. Her eyes stared into nothing, her thoughts a mystery that wishes to be undone for they hold deep and raw pain, caused by an unknown source, her inner being screams to be free from it's shackles, cries for peace and wants to be free.
Her heart leaves a reader craving more and dying from curiosity about it's mysterious state.
Her mind leaves an artist in awe from it's beautiful tragedy. It replays what her heart cannot discard, what has been carved at it's deepest core.
Her eyes, oh those orbs, a poet cries as he stares into those pools of wonder, of sorrow. Of grieve.
I wish to comfort her spirit yet I find myself paralyzed at the thought, it is as if she obliges my actions, it is as if she wishes for me to remain in the shadows, just like her past. I am her past, or at least a fraction of it's wrath unto her innocence. It is as if she knows-no-senses my presence and she silently begs for me to let her be. It is as if my face will leave her undone, it will bring back memories of turmoil that took years for her to 'forget' and try to delete.
Today was my last sunrise, I will die by sundown for my path has reached it's end and I am at peace, a new protector was born those many years ago and she shall protect and serve her duty as destined.
My generation has passed, I was the last and one of the few to survive after that event. Farewell.
