June 28, 2023

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Dear ghost,

Rain with the scent of purple night.

Twilight in the forest of wild fear.

Season of grief that last even as morning comes.

And the dusk of mundane hours to come,

They reckon the ruin of my feeble self. 

They are the misery of my growth

for at the heart of my existence, I am my worst fear. 

The monster that haunts every nightmare. Therefore, i want to believe that I can be a beast who eats my fear. The remedy of my vices. 

Yes, I just need to believe and be brave enough.


Yours even as I fear to be.


L
Leaena
Jun 28, 2023 · 34 views

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

— David Hare