I want to be happy
but
something inside me screams that I do not deserve it.
but
something inside me screams that I do not deserve it.
He is quiet in his journey, unassuming. A man made of sand and sky, of demons and angels, of stories, told so very many times that he has become less human and more of something else. Perhaps he is so something else that he hardly cares at all about anything else. Or perhaps he is just stupid. Regardless of the reasoning, and the way it came about, Ceylon does not smile when another passes him by. Galactic gaze does not flicker with warmth or greeting. It does not glance their way at all, in fact. Instead, the sojourner simply walks on, one foot in front of another, until he is before the Terminus Sea.
Large, unyielding, and completely blocking off the world when it would seek to expand, it is everything his desert home did not have. Ceylon does not remember if there was such a large body of water close, or anything comparable other than the vast dunes that would wave with the passing of the wind and swallow you whole if you dared too close. In retrospect, he does not think there is anything quite like an ocean that eats the sky like this. And then he wonders, eyes on the great towers he cannot yet reach - dark gods breaching from their watery caves and graves into the world of light that burns them - what it would be to hollow into the structures, what it would be to build a palace by the sea. Surely, it would be a lovely site indeed with only the salty breeze to touch you and the violent waves to sing you to sleep.
With the shifting of his feet, his weight over his hips, he thinks that would be wonderful, indeed.
ceylon.
