November 24, 2025

Lately, I fed the shadow too much. The wet shades of winter encroaches upon my fief. I am only cultivating seeds moulded in the dark. I have uttered only flaws, only to cloak myself in it. I am too distrustful for the springs pride. The winter stays as winter comes. The snow only veils my fears, my insecurity. Anxious of the wrong, I disable the growth.  My field is barren. My meadow are dry. I have not seen the grass in any cracks of this year. If all I speak of is vomit of complains, if all I spit is malice, if all I say is doubts of tomorrow, how would the sun ever dare to shine?