She sits, unaware. In a tranquil turmoil, she looks at you, and in the bed in which she lay, you avert a solemn gaze. For no creature, human nor other, knows God's certainty.
She is candid, loudly quiet and unnaturally lax. She knows not reason, only care and instinct. She has proven the fact of an intuitive truth.
Everywhere in sound, nowhere in silence, grief builds no border. We are all going to die.
-SakuraFeathers on her pet cat Mocha, the night before Mocha's passing
I love writing angsty poetry and sad excerpts, because let's bffr, it makes things a little more bearable.
