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I'm not writing anymore. It hurts too much. The battle ended and I never left. I stayed on the island, a whispering waif. Darkness fell and I fell with it. I laid across the earth, let my long tresses spread in the water at the shore. This was how I lived, aping death. I thought of my children but could not compose the same poetry I have spent hours laboring over. It was morning when I first thought of leaving. Weeks had gone by. The sun was painted in painful streaks, bleeding down through pillowy heavens that I did not deserve. I was standing but swaying with every sweep of the wind and the exotic trees surrounding me. I was alive, but I could have fallen with a hard breeze and I don't know how long it would have taken me to stand again. Age was beginning to affect me in a real and unavoidable way. My bones ached, and I don't think it was just the final injuries of the god war healing. It was just growing older, it was the fact that I had wandered for so long with the idea that I had nothing left to lose. Now I was settled, or at the very least my journey had reached its end. Helovia was going to be my grave, I didn't need prophetic powers to see that. It was just statistics. Sand clung to me in large patches. They were bright shadows. I wasn't writing anymore, it hurt too much. I was just looking out into the sea, away from the mainland and into vast emptiness. Nothing was easier to embrace than the everything behind, and I had realized: this land was the end of the line. There was nothing left to Loorien, and I had walked it all and found no solace. So I wasn't going to write anymore. Ahvelyn
i wanted to tell you that things would be different this time
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Open to any, but I just want a one on one!
