Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
The marsh seemed to go on forever. But just as the ground grew wet enough that it became too dangerous to go on, something could be seen gleaming up ahead. As half-dead and dying trees stood back to form a clearing, the wind picked up. A tear opened up in the clouds and a brilliant band of stars cast a faint glow upon a small lake. In the center of the lake was an island, barely large enough for one person to stand, and upon that isle a single tree had grown. Its trunk was gnarled and twisted, black with lichen and age, and unlike the other trees in the area – this was in full bloom. Getting tired of my own words
Petals of the softest pink drifted like snow upon the wind, filling the air with a sweet fragrance of spring. They seemed to glow in the dark – glowing like the strange greenish lantern that had come to a halt beneath the tree. A dark silhouette could be seen now, outlined between the light and the flowering tree; and for a moment it appeared to turn and look towards the woman who had followed so diligently. Then, quietly, it bowed from the waist – and as the light went out, the figure vanished in the dark.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
