the dream is long dead.
O, but the flowers that grow from her corpse!
I have named each one, as countless as the stars,
as numerous and crowded as her suitors.
desirous, I begin the days anew. the ship in my bottle is bound for seasalt waves and midnight starry skies.
my voyage,
the earnestness of a saint, and the conviction of a murderer.
I am bittersweet.
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