01-20-2025, 04:35 PM
..to die without a purpose.
Yet, misunderstood. Strenuous, like the breaths I take. The air feels thicker, sometimes.
More difficult than before, like the pain of my past I once endured. My heart is heavy.
..but this time, I tolerate it, because I couldn't harm a child that day.
It's not a regret I ever had, or felt.
All I wanted to see was something different this time, heavenly Father..
..and this time, I wanted to see, and got to see, what the world had to offer again,
but...
maybe, just maybe..
Maybe Siegfried can live out that legacy of our visions,
while I might walk in spirit with you, Morninglord.
Because..
I think my time here is up.
Recovery feels so far away.
Was there ever hope for me, as I write my thoughts on this page?
Will they be my final thoughts this time?
Pessimistic, because of the burden of the cold, maybe.
Yet, the air is so frigid, like the nights in the north,
and my fingers grow more numb by the minute.
I can feel it creeping in, like someone deprived of sleep.
I might not be able to finish writing this, or the hundreds of thoughts on my mind.
I barely just began to live again, but live I did, and I did it with a smile on my face.
My eyelids grow substantially weighty.
I'm sorry if this turns out for the worst, Solemn. My heart couldn't hold this weight again like it did two thousand years ago.
I'm sorry that I might not have recovered like we thought I would, Sieg, but if I'm to go now, I write this with a smile.
I love you dearly, Siegfried Abernath.
Tonight, our heavenly father might be calling me back to His side out there.
I'll fulfill my purpose, then. It won't be meaningless.
Suppose I can tell him all about how Ser
No more words to follow a train of thought- a story left unfinished, and a flame snuffed prematurely.
A shallow huff finds its way out. A heart seemingly grows crystallized in permanent frost, if only fleeting- having accomplished its duty.
She can be seen resting peacefully, with a quill locked between her fingers,
and a small journal that never found many entries in its parchment.
In the midst of night, a last exhale blows out of the High Priestess' lungs, never to draw in another breath.
The cold air leaves in their chambers.
Only a body remains, embracing the certitude of a mortal's death..
..so she may depart at the Morninglord's beckon, and go home to her creator.
Yet, misunderstood. Strenuous, like the breaths I take. The air feels thicker, sometimes.
More difficult than before, like the pain of my past I once endured. My heart is heavy.
..but this time, I tolerate it, because I couldn't harm a child that day.
It's not a regret I ever had, or felt.
All I wanted to see was something different this time, heavenly Father..
..and this time, I wanted to see, and got to see, what the world had to offer again,
but...
maybe, just maybe..
Maybe Siegfried can live out that legacy of our visions,
while I might walk in spirit with you, Morninglord.
Because..
I think my time here is up.
Recovery feels so far away.
Was there ever hope for me, as I write my thoughts on this page?
Will they be my final thoughts this time?
Pessimistic, because of the burden of the cold, maybe.
Yet, the air is so frigid, like the nights in the north,
and my fingers grow more numb by the minute.
I can feel it creeping in, like someone deprived of sleep.
I might not be able to finish writing this, or the hundreds of thoughts on my mind.
I barely just began to live again, but live I did, and I did it with a smile on my face.
My eyelids grow substantially weighty.
I'm sorry if this turns out for the worst, Solemn. My heart couldn't hold this weight again like it did two thousand years ago.
I'm sorry that I might not have recovered like we thought I would, Sieg, but if I'm to go now, I write this with a smile.
I love you dearly, Siegfried Abernath.
Tonight, our heavenly father might be calling me back to His side out there.
I'll fulfill my purpose, then. It won't be meaningless.
Suppose I can tell him all about how Ser
No more words to follow a train of thought- a story left unfinished, and a flame snuffed prematurely.
A shallow huff finds its way out. A heart seemingly grows crystallized in permanent frost, if only fleeting- having accomplished its duty.
She can be seen resting peacefully, with a quill locked between her fingers,
and a small journal that never found many entries in its parchment.
In the midst of night, a last exhale blows out of the High Priestess' lungs, never to draw in another breath.
The cold air leaves in their chambers.
Only a body remains, embracing the certitude of a mortal's death..
..so she may depart at the Morninglord's beckon, and go home to her creator.
fin