I cannot ask more. Why do such music denounce so much emotion, without even saying words? I cannot understand, but it is conveyed to my soul, as directly as how my ears would feel the solemn, breaking notes, fading throughout the eternity of time. A beautiful sound, it fills the creaks of my unwindowed prison. A mixture of serene, shameless but hopeful cries of the melody echoes throughout my spirit.

I cannot speak more. Muted by incoherence, there was nothing left to say. As it is, words cannot carry the truth of it alone. Forever tainted in the blackness of the sea, I succumb to my eternal sleep, listening to the faded noise of the earth.

Incomprehensible. It was not for me to know. But I know. It is beautiful. So beautiful, I cannot stand it. I want it destroyed. I continue to reject it. Such beauty cannot be born from a corruption.

there will always be an end to everything

Why? Do you like tormenting me that much? Are you happy seeing me in pain? I am not. But I cannot help it. Such is a truth I must face. I am nothingness. It is for my existence defines the past that became empty. The conjured darkness you thrown me into. Don’t worry. I feel nothing at all. These are but illusions. They, in time, will all fade away.

It is an irony. My life has been an irony. It has been like, I am alive but dead. Life is not real for me after all.

What is there to find? Would someone tell me? Can there be a reason for it all? There is none that I could find. After all, I am left blind. I cannot see such beauty where I can only find darkness.

The notes are still playing. I cannot hear more. I cannot afford to hear such purity. Disdain. A static sound emanates from the broken radio. Is it finished yet? No. The nocturne had just ended but another one has begun to play. As forlorn as I am. But there was hope. Between the sounds which I can define as death, I found hope. With this, I continue to listen to a song I cannot understand.

A song, I will only feel. A song, written for me. It is the song of my life. It is the song of my death.

A broken sound, for which the destruction of it gave life. It is the song of my existence.



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