resurrexia

Real or not, they don’t know anymore. His awakening is a rude one, and he curses the fact that he’s still hooked up to those dratted hospital machinery; he’s never quite liked needles and their larger, intravenous counterparts. And he wonders, why he’s here in the first place. But first, he has to know, if whatever he’s seeing is real or not. Real, or not, he doesn’t know, he no longer knows, and he wants to know. Mirai. That is his first thought after that. What happened to her? He gazes around the room, and his gaze settles on a familiar pair of glasses, comfortably sat on a chair beside his bed. "Kuriyam

We humans have an average of thirty-two to eighty-one years of life. It cannot be, that every single one of us will definitely create some sort of lasting impact on the world. It cannot be, that each and every single one of us will be revered as heroes and reviled as villains in centuries to come. It cannot be, that we are all Shakespeare and Sun Zi and Socrates in our own ways. We are only human, and perhaps it is better to think of ourselves as the general trend, and those, those hallmarked figures as anomalies, oddities marring the graph paper that is our environment. To us youths, it feels like forever - we have only just begun to explore

The future is a strange thing, much akin to the unknown. For every beginning that ends, a new end begins. mikan The tears don’t stop falling as gentle hands coax her away from the gates, away from all those strange people who’re crying, too. Who are they? Why do they know me? Why am I even crying? The song they sing sounds softly from behind her, and she feels a strange sense of liberation and pain and longing, and she doesn’t know why. It hurts her, and she wonders if it had anything to do with turning her back on those people. They had seemed familiar, yet unfamiliar, but there was this one strange, ghostly boy, crimson ey

Zest To a boring and pathetic life, she added flavour. A flavour so rich and sinful one could not bear to stop tasting. She was the stars in his sky, the flowers to his plant, the words to his book. There was nothing more or less that she would give him - always the right dosage, always sustaining his addiction to her presence. It wasn't much to anyone, but the way she brought colour to his life was simply magnificent. It was a taste of heaven that he would kill for, just for more. Just for that little bit more of her.

We humans have an average of thirty-two to eighty-one years of life. It cannot be, that every single one of us will definitely create some sort of lasting impact on the world. It cannot be, that each and every single one of us will be revered as heroes and reviled as villains in centuries to come. It cannot be, that we are all Shakespeare and Sun Zi and Socrates in our own ways. We are only human, and perhaps it is better to think of ourselves as the general trend, and those, those hallmarked figures as anomalies, oddities marring the graph paper that is our environment. To us youths, it feels like forever - we have only just begun to explore

The coffee she made, as Tatsuya always insisted, was perfect. An infusion of a sister's wholehearted love was most divine. Making coffee for Tatsuya has never been a chore. A routine, yes, but never a chore. She found that having to work the kettle in a circular motion helped to calm herself. Circles, circles. She thought of all the circles they were caught in - the game Maya had them all play for an heir, the reciprocal reaction their limiting bond had, and the circle of life, even. And her own broken circle - love for Tatsuya that simply could not be returned. Indeed, he was still able to process emotions when they concerned he

Through a screen we met. A distance so great between us, dear friends we've become.