April 12, 2023

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Dear ghost,

Many moons and most nights, for months and ends, I have but merely tasted the summers pride, only to behold the melted sun. I imagined it as hot as the meandering lava but dear, how irresistibly cold it is!

The frostbite have found its frigid way through my veins. It spiral into my fear. 

 However, I like to think that the darkness only ever exist in a space- devoid of life. Thus, as long as there is life in me, there is light.  So long as I love, the white winter of my summer day shall pass.


With delicate love

Yours


L
Leaena
Apr 11, 2023 · 32 views

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"The act of writing is the act of discovering what you believe."

— David Hare