Softly, she ventured into the violent night of May,â¨
Where pitch-black winter soaked her bones.â¨
The sea, full of teeth, bit and insisted as she stood there, unmoving.â¨
It was full of music and empty promises; she let the vastness of the agonizing waves drown her rotting body.
The sharp smell of air reeked of bitter billet-doux.â¨
It had been her three hundred sixty-five attempts to be silent; barefoot, she waited and waited and waited.
Under the moonlight, she appeared as a ghastly ghost.â¨
For a moment, she wondered, âOnly the wicked remember the seaâs harshness and stayââa woman personified as storm, mirroring her rage.
She is a twisted soul; death sighs at the sight of her.â¨
The moon exhausted its entire being. âShe is full of herself,â he whispered into the dark, corrupted sea.â¨
She imprinted the sands with her unnerving gravityâshe walked, and walked, and walked,
Haunted by her visions and dreams, terrorizing the melancholic earth.
Months passedâit was now September.â¨
Sheâs restless; all she could do was remember.â¨
She kept bathing in the black sea, passionately driving herself to madness.â¨
She kept being pulled and pulled and pulled,
â¨Until survival was no longer an optionâher hair slowly being grappled into the lake of fire.
Her last remaining thoughts were of long-forgotten, enchanting, sweet eyes of his.â¨
She dreamed of himâthose big, witchery eyes of his.
â¨She remembered, and so the sea deciphered her yearning and pulled her in.
wrote something for myself again.
