me sens...

I feel hollow, like a trunk that houses the night owls and the morning sprites. All the rays of the morning sun simply cannot cancel out the power of the moonbeams. The light exposes everything that lurks in the darkest corners within. The recluse stops only for the harshness of the light.

It was called sadness, it was called desperation, but it was beckoned nonetheless. The gods cry with empathy, and the showers begin. Washing away the grime, filling the voids in the most oceanic of senses. New terrain to be created again: a new being worthy of the sky's grief. All of the cosmos cried, and cleansed me to begin again, as Noah did after the epic flood.

Tears of starlight, provoked by feelings that are as cosmic as the sky that housed their discovery. They glimmer as they drip down and douse the face. The trail shimmers and reflects the greatness of deities and the misery of the dead. The magnitude of their weeps washed me clean.