Atlantic
young and bruised with revolution, her breath reeking of trauma and death. sink into her depths and cry with her corpse at the bottom
Pacific
the kind of person that would hold you and listen, though she has little to say. she has seen many more things than can be described, and is accepting the peace and calm of ancience
Indian
her body is rich and alive, her voice calling out constantly, "you are not alone," tone glowing with presence and history and hidden secrets
Southern
a carnation of rage, ever-motion-filled and so deafening quiet. she is fueled and her rage takes out everything that dates attempt her
Arctic
white is the best descriptor - the white of the flashes of fur and the white of the chunks of snow and the white of the everlasting stars
YOU ARE READING
Book #2
PuisiThe old one is old and cringey. So I made a new one! I'm not a freakish middle school fangirl anymore, so you can read my ideas without internally dying! Now, it's meme time. // (mostly short stories and poetry, with a lil bit of meme-y stuff (idk)...
