𓂁𓂄 · 5mo
Wishing upon my mind and soul to hold back from reaching out again, yet here I am. Tell me if my presence is not wanted? I … stopped writing. Stopped everything the moment I lost—things. I couldn’t do it. I see now that you’re the one who turned into a writer. Beautiful works, all of them. You always create beautiful pieces. Surrounded by deadly smoke, yet always so beautiful. I genuinely hope the muse you write about will always be delighted and grateful. Might whisk you away (in my dreams) if they aren’t.
I never wish for anyone to feel reluctant to reach out to me. Your presence is not unwanted, rather cherished. I understand the past made you faced challenges and for some, losing something precious can make it harder to create. Nevertheless, you've taken the step to bravely reach out, admiring my works though anonymously. I appreciate it, I really do. Even your memory of the so-called deadly smokes, haha. And should you ever decide to return to writing, know that I will be here to support in every way I can.
