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๐–›๐–Ž๐–”๐–‘๐–Š๐–“๐–™ ๐–‰๐–Š๐–‘๐–Ž๐–Œ๐–๐–™๐–˜

@finaltragedy

Faith and Anastasia's musings. All works are original unless stated elsewise.

Joined December 2016
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Ends come violent for those serene, and ends come placid for those breaking nails, holding on to their longings. But all ends come, and all ends are tragic. The one who gets the last laugh, has nobody to weep for him.


When the Witch of Black Fire rises anew, once and for all, none shall survive the wrath and immense of her dark, chilling flames.


What matters most is how often you can sit alone, all by yourself, in a dimly lit room and admit to yourself that you are in love. Not with anyone or anything. You just are in love. With yourself. With life itself.


I wonder if we are always at a crossroads, and if at any time our paths may diverge or converge. What is life if not something to go through? Musings for chilly evenings and more thoughts of you.


Loneliness be the absence of companionship. No loneliness is worse than not having the good company of oneself. And if ye still feel lonely, it certainly must be because your heart is elsewhere.


A windy and cold evening entail longing and dread for me. The chill penetrates my bones and makes me feel alive. But being alive feels so lonely, it's terrifying.


She who rides a stallion as black as a dark, starless night through the forest of the lost and unliving, comes not seeking a truce, but is prepared to deliver the first and final blow upon her foes.


Helpless, lost little girl, sat on the docks of the universe, watching the ship named fleeting life pass her by...watching it leave the port of reality with weary, empty eyes...unable to stop its departure and inevitable sinking.


I hate that I love how you exhaust me. Leave me worn out and empty-headed. You are my crux. You are my punishment. You are my longing. And you are delicious.


Sometimes, one wishes to revert back to one's old self. When one was young and hopeful and not ashamed to dawn dreamy eyes. For one would not be seen as foolishly naรฏve, but simply young and innocent.


I long to feel again, with drifting time and my waning self, the way I felt when I was sunk in passion and heat.


A time when I dreamt limitlessly and lost myself in the unseen beauty of life. I wish to no longer be bound by the ghosts of my past loves.


Treading carefully, along a path in your heart, worn and cold, bloody, littered with remains of warriors who came to conquer, but failed.


And you weep. You weep for all that was lost and moreso for that which never was. You weep. You weep and fall to the ground.


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