D E S P A I R |
It hurts here. No escape. Darkness has stolen all the colors. Stone, oak and iron seal the Dancer in the shadows with herself. The ground is broken, sharp, and filled with hazards. Even skin feels like torture when bones scream and tears howl for release.
Really? Is that all you see? Is this landscape of self-imposed exile the tomb you make it out to be? Or are there avenues to escape close at hand Ė the half-open doors, the growing lives, the ability to dance even when you feel like bleeding? Itís understandable that Despair looks like a dead-end trap. So long as youíre alive, however, paths beyond this trap exist.
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