⠀⠀⠀⠀ ͟ ⃟𓍝

@smpiternus        ›       you simply seemed panicked,  i was concerned if there was anything deeper occurring.   ^^  but i’m glad to hear you’re fine,  what’s your name?

@medicology    ◞    for .. for the moment, yes.  you ask -- ..why? exactly.

@smpiternus          ›          are you alright?

@holylies   ◞      why? it is necessity -     i must understand.  there is nothing greater than understanding.. yes - it is necessity.  can I ask, why do you ask? 

@emanates  ◞    problem..? no, no i have no problem  --    why do you listen?  is it loud? a whisper of mine? 

@holycrave  /  ofc snookems 

/ tsks.. pucker up

@holycrave   / do u wanna kiss 2 

@holycrave   ◞     again...-!?   

‘m just.. tired..    (zz,)

@holycrave   ◞      why are you tired?  It is midday.. do you not sleep? 

⠀⠀⠀⠀◞     "Anthanosios"     :     immortality. 
                      -     what would you give .. 
                 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀   ⠀⠀for a life without  an end? 
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀────────
                                             "Everything." 
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀────────
            
            ⠀⠀❜     what you see before you is no longer a man capable.  what you see before you is a being unable to shed itself of a skin long dead to this world.  what you see before you is a thing tearing its own mind apart. 
            
            for what? 
            
            for life.  for a penance. 
            
            Anthanasios does not remember his name, his home, his own eye colour. he does not remember why, nor how, nor what. The shell of a man who's desperate to find the answers the memory of himself writes down on pages of journals he has no recollection of. 
            
            it is himself, he knows. his handwriting is the same down to the flick of each 'y' he writes. 
            
            Anthansios is a researcher. He remembers that much, the hollow shell of his mind claws at words upon his walls like they are his identity -- but he has no way to confirm it. It is a hope that pushes him through the agonising torment of his cursed life. 
            
            He is sick, he remembers. A disease of abundance that wars with his cells every second of the day - demanding a price paid for his ventures into things he draws up blank. 
            
            He knows he has lived far longer than he should. His right arm is withered; rotting away with a life that is not his doing. It aches and corrupts his skin, impales his mind with memories only to rip them away, leaving even less behind. 
            
            Anthanasios has lied. A silver tongue promised an answer to a question he never remembered asking. What was it? What had he offered for this golden leash they called freedom?
            
            He must find a cure. 
            
            Whether that was his answer, promise, or question he does not know. 
            
            But he tells himself in every ink stain that he must. 
            
            Before his mind consumes itself and feeds the parasite of abundance. 

/ me too Um 

/ crazy what u find when u actually look in ur phone lmfao

  ``     a test, that's all.  I thought it would be fun.     ``     ◞   @6THEYES