saol ciúin sionnach

some things in nature remain unchanged, like her gaze, which still reflects life hidden behind the fear of pain

ᨒ ོ ☼

i thought everything was fine. nothing bad was happening. i thought, that nothing bad was already good. and behind all this, i didn't notice that i was still unhappy

we talk, but it seems about the wrong things. and we remain silent about what is important

we keep these secrets in our minds, expecting that no one will understand us. and in the end we forget about what was really important to us

"what if i don't want to do what everyone else is doing? what if i want to live a different life

my mom would say, "don't be ridiculous, Dorian, everyone wants to go to college."

my classmates would laugh, "come on, bro, everyone wants to hang out with the cool kids."

people would look at me, "don't you want to dedicate your life to your job?"

if only I had the courage to look them in the eye and say no, i don't want to.." the boy finally fell silent.

"the hardest thing is to follow your own path, you know?"

sometimes I feel like if i had a choice, i'd never interact with the real world. i don't like it here. and it's not just the pain, humiliation, or eternal struggle. i just don't like it here.

it's like a game i don't like playing, but i can't hit the "exit" button.

Your intro video in your carrd was also lovely btw.

Hope you have a nice day ahead <3

the art of simple existence. when it's enough for me to just do things for myself, not have all the knowledge in the world, and enjoy a beautiful bird in the forest

allow yourself to just be..

.☘︎ ݁˖

i'm so tired of being trapped in an adult body that i feel like a butterfly pinned to a board in a frame on display for all to see

i just want to find be myself

it's weird that in the real world, outside of my life, everyone keeps saying that i'm not enough. but i feel inside like an ocean and a storm and a tempest and like the most beautiful sunset.

there is much more of me than one can imagine

the loneliness of a snowstorm

𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦.

𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛.

[it may never happen, but i'll never stop repeating the lines in my head]

i say it quietly. the tall grass hides my gaze, aimed somewhere above, far beyond the clouds. i look, but i don’t see. i don’t know what i should be looking at - but definitely not at her.

she watches me as if i'm confessing a broken bone. in her blue eyes - a sad, stormy shimmer and a spark of care.

i don’t want to be cared for.

“do you want me to show you?” her voice is timid.

Aemora knows i’ve long wanted to see the shape of my soul. from a witch who could see beyond our masks, i expected something else entirely - but here it is.

she reaches out her hands to me. and I’m scared - if i touch her, i’ll learn something about myself i’d rather never know.

her fingers are cold and her skin is soft - a sharp contrast to my own: small cuts, roughened palms from working in the shop.

in an instant, azure light appears around us - flowing, curling, drifting like a ribbon fallen from the sky. magic slips into me, straight into my heart.

and then… a raven appears.

from the air, the outline of a bird shapes itself, sitting on my knees, staring far into the distance. only-

“he can’t fly,” the witch mouths quietly.

a bird that cannot fly.

a joke from fate for a witch who will never leave this island.

muted silence breaks against the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs.

i'm afraid that life will pass without me ever having time to tell this story..

far away on a Cold Island lives the witch Delaney. she is sad. still far too young, yet already so old in spirit. weary of life. she doesn’t let anyone come close, because in the past people brought her too much pain.

she works in a shop of wonders, yet she does not love the work at all. she is too tired of miracles.

so she often escapes to places where there is not a single soul. she loves to watch the raging ocean. sometimes she almost smiles at the thought that it resembles too closely what lives inside her.

a storm.

he loved to look out the window.

at passing cars, at strangers on the sidewalks. he followed the long-familiar route, reading shop signs - every tree, every turn so well known they already had names of their own.

it was a kind of ritual.

something that made him feel grounded. time seemed to stop inside the bus, and the yellow light created the feeling that the rest of the world had simply vanished.

when evening came, a sense of safety followed.

darkness hid people’s faces, and his own thoughts grew more tangled than wires. all of it was familiar, almost dear - as if a curtain finally fell and the play of daylight came to an end. masks disappeared. the need to play someone’s role..stopped being a necessity.

a strange comfort, wrapped in the faint scent of plastic seats. and the cold of the glass.

drip. drip.

in the rain, everything felt gentler, and the inner storm gave way to a quiet, still surface.

peace.

'`Next stop: Nocturne Street.'`

interrupted by pain.

dear friend,

can i call you that? i know we're not close, but i believe you exist somewhere out there.

i'm lonely. i guess i've been disillusioned with the world for a long time, but i still keep doing something. i'm not happy at all, you know. i don't understand why the world has become the way it is. i don't feel heard at all. i just exist. and i don't even speak. what's the point of talking if no one listens to you. i used to be proud and happy about every little thing i did. now it seems to me that this is not enough. because you can try and do something, putting your heart and soul into it, but not get any response

we all have that one person in our lives who makes us lose ourselves?

where you don't have to play a role. where you don't have to pretend to be someone you're not. where it's so quiet you can hear your soul's cry. where waves meet rocks, and seagulls soar high above the earth.