Last night I completed a journal I began three years and two days ago exactly. It has, at times, been a sadistic phantom, a masochistic companion, an enemy and more recently a projection. I often imagined what this day might look like and what those transformations would bring.
Savage war-mongering flames and primal oceanic floods, despairing disparities, disparaging lust and manic bliss... betrayals were committed and wounds excised with precise surgical fanaticism. You dæmon book though I am sad to bury you, I bear my scars with a feeling that has no name; bordering somewhere between lonely excitement and relieved grief under the weight of all that I am and can never be - twinned.
Dear wraith... Saudade says it and says it not at all.
Savage war-mongering flames and primal oceanic floods, despairing disparities, disparaging lust and manic bliss... betrayals were committed and wounds excised with precise surgical fanaticism. You dæmon book though I am sad to bury you, I bear my scars with a feeling that has no name; bordering somewhere between lonely excitement and relieved grief under the weight of all that I am and can never be - twinned.
Dear wraith... Saudade says it and says it not at all.
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