On an auburn evening in the midst of autumn, i sat alone, thoughts in fingers, words scrawled upon marble pages, waiting for jet black ink to be carved on it.
All the thoughts of long past, ones forgotten to the silent whisper in the ears of the dead, others echoed on the highest mountains but still lonely in nature.
Words longed past, letters arranged neatly, chipped piece by piece into marble, forever imbued with pain, love, joy and something deeper, something ancient, something brewing within one’s very nature.
Fear
Alone, in the midst of an autumn evening, alone with thoughts in fingers, words scrawled upon marble pages, i felt fear for what may come, for no marble can foretold one’s destiny.