and bury it before it buries me
She cant sleep.
It isn't really anything new, not for Elena. She tosses and turns, even the soothing rhythmic pattern of the ocean swelling and falling is not enough to comfort her into a slumber. Elena finally scoffs, the only audible confirmation that says she is giving up. There is a sea breeze outside as she steps onto the sand, and it jostles her awake. She has been a storm of emotions lately, the reeling and spinning hits her at strange intervals that leaves her feeling so passionate and light-headed. So much has happened, so much is continuing to happen. She wants to settle herself, but she feels as torrent as her ever faithful sea.
It is easy to keep walking, keep moving, one foot, another, and another. Distance covered, footprints left. It is only when she notices that distinct absence of ocean waves that she suddenly looks to see where she is headed. She feels lost, and yet she cannot place exactly why. It’s a reoccurring feeling of loneliness that swarms like mosquitos to her blood. She cannot outrun it, but she doesn’t try very hard. Its only when the itchiness beings that she ponders actually doing something about it. She wondered if she was destined to forever remain a butterfly, never fully settling to one patch of flowers.
There are mountains set out before her, inviting her into its tender embrace and Elena can hardly refuse them. The night air folds into her like a loving caress, promising to hold her tight until she slips away once more.
The golden girl looks dull against the night shadows as she makes her way closer and closer into Denocte. She shouldn't go there, again and again. Elena is reminded every time she finds herself on the uneven footing of a mountain side of just how weak she is for not being able to stay away. If she were stronger she would have never risen from her sleep, never hunted through her mind for some excuse, even if she didn't know it at the time, to move her feet once more towards Denocte. Night is no Dawn, where Elena feels free to frolic through its forest, and it is no Terrastella which has built a cathedral in her heart and a home in her soul. Denocte is another thing all together, a mysterious thing, and Elena finds her drawn to it like Snow White to the apple, no matter if the evil queen stands by just waiting for her to take a bite.
She is looking for him and for him—for them, she realizes. (She only realizes it because she does not cower from the shadows in fear, but marches boldly into them.) She stares out into the darkness, for her shadow and her star. Elena is looking for them.
But she finds—nothing. No, no, Elena doesn't find nothing.
She just finds Moira instead.
It isn't really anything new, not for Elena. She tosses and turns, even the soothing rhythmic pattern of the ocean swelling and falling is not enough to comfort her into a slumber. Elena finally scoffs, the only audible confirmation that says she is giving up. There is a sea breeze outside as she steps onto the sand, and it jostles her awake. She has been a storm of emotions lately, the reeling and spinning hits her at strange intervals that leaves her feeling so passionate and light-headed. So much has happened, so much is continuing to happen. She wants to settle herself, but she feels as torrent as her ever faithful sea.
It is easy to keep walking, keep moving, one foot, another, and another. Distance covered, footprints left. It is only when she notices that distinct absence of ocean waves that she suddenly looks to see where she is headed. She feels lost, and yet she cannot place exactly why. It’s a reoccurring feeling of loneliness that swarms like mosquitos to her blood. She cannot outrun it, but she doesn’t try very hard. Its only when the itchiness beings that she ponders actually doing something about it. She wondered if she was destined to forever remain a butterfly, never fully settling to one patch of flowers.
There are mountains set out before her, inviting her into its tender embrace and Elena can hardly refuse them. The night air folds into her like a loving caress, promising to hold her tight until she slips away once more.
The golden girl looks dull against the night shadows as she makes her way closer and closer into Denocte. She shouldn't go there, again and again. Elena is reminded every time she finds herself on the uneven footing of a mountain side of just how weak she is for not being able to stay away. If she were stronger she would have never risen from her sleep, never hunted through her mind for some excuse, even if she didn't know it at the time, to move her feet once more towards Denocte. Night is no Dawn, where Elena feels free to frolic through its forest, and it is no Terrastella which has built a cathedral in her heart and a home in her soul. Denocte is another thing all together, a mysterious thing, and Elena finds her drawn to it like Snow White to the apple, no matter if the evil queen stands by just waiting for her to take a bite.
She is looking for him and for him—for them, she realizes. (She only realizes it because she does not cower from the shadows in fear, but marches boldly into them.) She stares out into the darkness, for her shadow and her star. Elena is looking for them.
But she finds—nothing. No, no, Elena doesn't find nothing.
She just finds Moira instead.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@
![[Image: ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db...0iFb4PvyXE]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/8026a53b-dc57-41ab-b574-9f8a8fe57ce4/ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db0780.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzgwMjZhNTNiLWRjNTctNDFhYi1iNTc0LTlmOGE4ZmU1N2NlNFwvZGR2b3R3ZS01OTMwMmJhNi02YTgxLTQ3YmYtOTg0Ni0zMGM1YTVkYjA3ODAucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.ujCJH7FAbsQhfZlQniMmEd_vw-VmvaTDn0iFb4PvyXE)
let's light this house on fire
we'll dance in the warmth of its blaze
pixel made by the amazing star
