The White Owl

Outside, a single brave ray of sunshine emerges through the pressing uneasiness of the clouds flocking inside our minds.

But within, the tempest rages without mercy, abandoning and leaving us with an insatiable hunger and an unquenchable thirst; and nothing is more visceral than the searing tension that chars our bodies and leaves embers of who we once were.

Or who we believed we were.

Our ash, like all ash, never returns to its original state.

It evolves into a wanderlust, replacing the single brave ray.

It becomes free from the need for absolution.

Free from vulnerability.

Free from sorrow.

Free from pain.

Free.