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Dear Death,

I think I can paint this world for you now. From decadence and disorderly life to death and blank slates. Something I own, expressed dearfully to you as if I have always owned it. Perhaps remembered by no one in the end, but for now, maybe even just a glimpse of light from the murk and more, just to prove it can exist. even if it fades within the hour. Sincerly, Rosier.

Rosier · Fantasy
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40 Chs

The Last Chapter

What have I not written of darling.

How about a disease to fall in love with everything I see?

How about the heaven that is stored in your eyes.

How about the despair of dirt.

How about the things I have written of. Do they mean as much to you as they do to me.

Overstayed have I my welcome. What a goodbye shall I have. with my journey unfinished, barely even started. I will decide if I have regret later.

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