can an NT sneak into here for a moment's peace?
Always had trouble with living. Can never quite see what is real, and what is ideal anymore. It's all just mixed up, and sometimes, it is good--because always, you see what can be. Therein the source of light that can help others. But too, it means you're always disappointed, and always in pain. And nothing survives, because who ever can be all they are able to be? It is a wasteland, all barren, all ashen. It is cold, and lonely, when the ice wind blows and there's only the dust of stillborn dreams and the ache of barren memories and aborted desires.
The schist is great. You stand on the sharp black cliffs and the broken splintered places of the soul, alone. The scream is so deep it cannot be uttered in words. Even then, the endless echoes reverberate. Below the barrier of 20 hertz the waves are restless in their topography of sound. All around, the silence. The little elf is in pain. Sometimes it seems like it never ends.
But I love the gold sunlight, I love the white moonlight, I love the subtext of sand eroding under the waves, the salt scent of the changing sea,
the way the trees look after a rain, their bark almost black, and their shivering leaves so green, so vulnerable.
When Orion appears in the sky at night, and Cynus, the swan, swoops low on the horizon.
And Venus the morning and evening star, a constant and a steadfast presence.
And when the gentle tropical wind breathes calm on my face, I think, I will be ok.
I am a wild flower. It is not humans who nourish me but the elements themselves.
I am a wild flower. God does not let His flowers die.