The ancient of days was ne'er made for me, yet ever I crave its wondrous peace...
Ancient of Days
Sonder for the Birds
Here you are to sing to me, and here I am, admiring thee...
Sticky Notes
I'll gather them all in a crumpled pile and watch as they writhe and convulse beneath the flame. Suddenly, they are gone. It's tragic that I can't do the same.
Ever On the Wing, pt. V: Significance
Life moves autonomously // Life within and without me
