graveyard of buried souls

dearest moonchild

i find myself burdened with the weight of primogeniture, a mantle of responsibility draped upon my weary shoulders. like an ancient oak, i stand tall amidst the forest of ties, my branches reaching out to shield and guide those who follow in my wake. however, beneath this noble facade, a melancholic tune plays softly yet obstreperously-the lament of a soul yearning for freedom.

oh, how i long to be the wild wind, unencumbered and free, to dance like a flame and chase my own dreams across the vast expanse of possibility. but alas, i am bound by duty, like a prisoner within the confines of obligation. my heart, once filled with youthful exuberance, now beats a mournful rhythm, echoing the sorrows of a soul tethered to its role.

i am the silent moon child-the forgotten muse-as their dreams take flight and soar to heights i can only imagine. like a withered rose, i watch as their petals unfurl. and yet, in this garden of youthful bloom, i remain a wilted bud, my own aspirations fading with each passing season.

i am the guardian of their dreams, the keeper of their innocence. like a lighthouse in the tempestuous sea of life, i cast my light upon their paths-illuminating the way forward. but in this self-imposed isolation, i am but a solitary and incandescent moon, casting a pale, lonely glow upon their aspirations, while my own desires remain shrouded in darkness. nevertheless, even in my solitude, i find solace in the knowledge that my presence, however distant, brings guidance and comfort to those who orbit around me. moonchild, i may be enigmatic and elusive, but i am a source of inspiration, reminding them to reach for the stars and embrace the beauty of their own unique journeys.

so dearest, i shall continue to walk this path of solitude, my spirit burdened yet resilient. for in the realm of familial constellations, i am the oldest child, waning and waxing through the endless phases of responsibilities. i will ebb and flow, with tides high and tides low. and though my own dreams may be but whispers in the wind, a moon will continue to cast its moonbeams-unceasingly, indefinitely.