Tell me about the arts that you've long forgotten how to breathe life into. Tell me about the stories of words that you've long forgotten how to weave. Tell me about the papers and canvases that have been forsaken by their destinies to convey the screams of your existence. I care not about what creation you were once the goddess of, for the remains of those that once enveloped your every last drop of sanity will always be masterpieces that have been left behind in the past in order for us to pursue a path forced onto us by the tyranny of reality.
Tell me all about it, for much like yours, my soul craves for the flames that once scorched through my hands to create worlds and lives out of ashes that were never there. I, too, belong in the realm of artists and linguists that have been desecrated by the assaults of time. Tell me all about what it is that you crave for, because chances are...
You and I long for the same warmth brought to us by the brush and the pen.
Tell me about the arts that you've long forgotten how to breathe life into. Tell me about the stories of words that you've long forgotten how to weave. Tell me about the papers and canvases that have been forsaken by their destinies to convey the screams of your existence. I care not about what creation you were once the goddess of, for the remains of those that once enveloped your every last drop of sanity will always be masterpieces that have been left behind in the past in order for us to pursue a path forced onto us by the tyranny of reality.
Tell me all about it, for much like yours, my soul craves for the flames that once scorched through my hands to create worlds and lives out of ashes that were never there. I, too, belong in the realm of artists and linguists that have been desecrated by the assaults of time. Tell me all about what it is that you crave for, because chances are...
You and I long for the same warmth brought to us by the brush and the pen.