Six days of sobriety

The twist of a tale, the bite of a blade, I thought she knew. I thought she wanted help. Instead day by day she went further away. Then, all at once, she was gone completely.

I thought I knew her. I thought I could save her. I was wrong.

Her anger, her pain, and her frustration, these were all that she had. Dissapointment is all she knew. What could she have possibly been if I took these from her?

The wind blows cold across the landscape of buildings, out across the water, to where? If only she had called. If only we could have talked about something, anything.

I would have liked to have been her friend.

It is the seventh day. Having failed in the creation of new worlds I will rest. It is not to be the rest of the divine, or those who have earned sleep through sweat and pain.

simply the rest of the weary

Solace in green and ice, spice and poison.