PHANTOMS WALK THESE LONELY STREETS, their dim lamplights carry an otherworldly vestige, a long forgotten vestige that ripples across the ocean blue tide. she knows what it is to have no name. to have many names. to be forgotten by one yet beloved by all ( lonelier and lonelier ; tears unshed yet they still stain this frail divinity ). there is an earnestness in her steps, one which wanders these pale halls with an organic lilt, a springtime dance that belongs to her and her alone. she is the sweet mother who sings, and the sweet mother who dances forward and forward, until his golden eyes align with deepest black.
❛ death begets death, angel of truth. ❜ words catch the seafoam ; they are wild and true. a thousand syllables spin upon her silent tongue, yet from the depths of her mind do these songs come alive. as pristine as the whitest of untouched snow, she is a stranger to this city and all the ghosts who linger here. their masks tell a story. their names are but whispers caught between starlight. she grieves for them just as she grieves for him. she understands this loss.
( tick tock, tick tock )
❛ this wheel which spins ever onward ... shall not cease, not now, not while you follow this path. ❜ ears flicker, gaze does not leave his own until —— until her sadness bears itself down upon her chest. ❛ why can you not come to love them ? love them as any dark thing loves another ? why do you persist in this anguish ? ❜
@soruvusu / it’s suffering time already let’s go .
