epigraph ☽
"'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out..."
- Hamlet
for ☽
the moon, the only one who has seen my tired eyes
note ☽
life is a war i did not ask to fight in, the enlistment too quick for me to run from. groans from fellow soldiers will haunt my ears, the "why"s. the "why"s always hurt the most, the "why me?", " "why now?", "why is it always me?" , questions of anguish from a slowing pulse. i often wonder if misery is state that holds as a second skin, is vulnerability born to the user? why did the sins from our past lives come to punish the most innocent body, why are we the chosen.
the inspiration for this came with the questions which will always linger with a feeling more foreign to me than the answers. the inspiration was, "hate", the question was "why can't we do anything about it", "who suffers?", "is it limited to the one we see upon the news and protest?" (answer: no, there are other wars, this book will explore all of them), the answers as shown previously, I've only answered one of them. the others society likes to answer for me, but I still don't understand the collective idea.
I only know one thing.
life is hard, and love is harder but the battle always ends when we decide to love again. and starts when we decide not to.
YOU ARE READING
miles to go before i wake
Fantasythe story of the children, not of the witches who lived, but of those who were burned. their revenge continues on. the flame held by the cracked torch passes along the steps of a downward staircase; with a fire that holds the history of death, it...
