(no subject)

[gunah]

 


A flower falls even though we love it;
Weed grows even though we do not love it.


 

Comments

[deathful]

[ War takes many forms. War is also a grand cliche of the worst of human conditions, which perhaps makes it apt that its form takes that of an overbearing man — what else could be more of a caricature than the sharp figure of a merciless man, the sort to keep his sister in a cage, to keep his brothers in line with the threat of being forgotten? He goes by Wyatt, these days - a man of true leisure, but not of idleness. There's always a war threatening to break out somewhere in the world; it's only timing that decides how many he takes down with him, this time around. He pushes a small cup forward to his companion, on this bright Saturday morning. The drink is clear and warm, like the tempered glass that surrounds them. ] I wasn't certain what you'd like. Have a drink.

[gunah]

[ If asked, her stance on war is clear: she hates it with every fibre of her being. But time and time again she has consorted with what she despises in order to win the hand of the one she loves: peace. But peace is elusive, capricious. She never stays for long. War, on the other hand. War persists.

But to her eyes, Wyatt appears as a man, no more and no less, and she has never turned down a gift. Known or otherwise.

He gets a bright smile for his trouble. ]

I like everything I haven't tried. In principle. [ She twirls the glass about with the tips of her fingers. ] What is it?