love of self
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She moved away from everything that was, everything that could have been, and everything that still tried to cling. Always moving, never lingering. The past threw its reminders at her feet, but none of them were worth gathering. A slate wiped clean was all that mattered, for time was not to be wasted—it was to…
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Comfort is not always found in the warmth of the sun. Sometimes it waits in the dark spaces between this and that, in the hushed corridors of the in-between. These are places where shadows roam freely, where secrets linger behind half-shuttered eyes, and where the cobwebs in forgotten corners glisten like veils. The dark is…
