@1p15â offered :  â i am directionless. â
the sky is so terribly clear,  if one were to prick at its empyrean skin then it would surely shatter into a thousand pieces â yes, shatter. shatter like thin glass, like silver turned solid. against that endless expanse there can be little resolution other than witless dreaming, and even then, dreaming can be so very tempting and the mind can be so fickle. perhaps the sky would be preferred over the bleak, though not entirely barren, earth upon which she stands now. alive, though not alive. lucid dreaming given form, mirages made real through the unabbating heat which wafts through hair thinner than untouched snow. her voice shakes like black ice brewing beneath a grey sea. Â
what stands before her is neither machine nor android, nor human itself. beastly but not brooding. alive, but not quaking beneath the unfastened seams. appearing more ghostlike than anything truly material ; whiter than winter though fires are stocked at the edges. what might this one see her as, she wonders silently, unprovoked. perhaps no more than a wolf, or fainter still, a dream caught between moments of bloodletting and broken resolve, a figment of whatever imagination still lingers.Â
no words spill from the she wolfâs jaw, not that they could, but words still flow freely from her heart and maybe, maybe that is enough. she hopes they will reach her in time, as tender as that hope might be. carried by the winds, caressed by the balmy warmth. those words echo while the breeze entangles through a2âČs boundless, oceanless white hair. Â
                 directionless âŠÂ but you still stand.Â
                donât starve :  slowly accepting











