Epershand

The library was dark and frozen with not a person in sight. This particular couch by this particular desk was not chosen for this reason, however. In reality, they seemed to choose themselves. As he walked down each corridor, not one area fit better for some light reading than this very spot. It was far enough away from any other seating area that he was likely enough not to be disturbed; this ensured that the words would leap from the page without the full effort of his imagination. It was also subtle enough, void of any distracting colours or mechanical sounds, and quaint enough to really make him feel cut off from the rest of the world. Bu

Like air, you are. Breath and warmth when you smile, yet cold and solid when you cry. My lungs fill and empty of you and then as I sink I seem to forget you… Sunlight bore you, The moonlight keeps you, but water makes all of you go away. I am like water.

Where I am, there is an entire highway lined with grey trees and the most lifeless snow you would think you had ever seen. For decades, it stretches low and unforgiving along the lower edge of this great, beautiful country. In the most dramatic of ways, it is a stark contrast to the amazing mountains and valleys in the West, and even a horrible injustice to the amazing autumn forests only a hand full of hours North. There are so few ways of describing it, the eerie repetition of the same five trees over and over again and the depressingly shallow, lifeless ditches of dead white that border the entire way. This four hour journey is the amazing

My arms feel feeble, as they have no home, No heart to rest on, or any place to lay their work; The intricate delicacies made by talent earned From a heart wrenching earnest. I see no reason, for my eyes lack blood, Stolen from them by a soul distraught By the narrow vision of an old ideal, And a philosophy that sucks it dry. Can you tell me then, my friend, For what reason I worry as I do For a spirit unfulfilled and thirsting, One which, I’m sure, is righteous? One such ask, I could not commit you to, For just this single question is the fright of the mind. It is the beauty of the pair of queries that I lack, And then do

 An ocean broke the light across the eyes of a small girl. Glimmers like butterflies flapping in and out of waves, flowing through the winds of Neptune, among the horses, all around the world. She was so small: brown hair, green eyes, and ever so small. Among the shore she seemed a speck of hope; a small shadow on a blank canvas; not really stained, yet sitting there with such a fragile grace. So innocent, she was, all alone without anyone to tarnish her light. She is the last one, the small girl, and the final human on the world. The foam dances across her feet, shimmering bubbles that try so hard to be clouds in the sky. They wash up with