The road feels as if it is closing in around me, suffocating me. A dark cloud is following me overhead. I hold her letter in my hand and clutch it to my heart. Her words sting worse than the scars I carry. What was once joy has turned into hatred. I have sent a letter of apology, but I fear to much damage has been done. I, however, still pray that it is not too late.
I long, now, only for a battle. A place where I can pour out my pain, my suffering. Yea, verily, even my anger and my darkness. One battle, one fight, one duel, one left standing. I have no fear of the end, for the end is simply another beginning. I will not send myself but if I am sent, I will not cry for the loss of this place. May my words not reach her to late. I fear for this earth should they be.
-- The Vagrant Soul
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Tome of the Vagrant Soul
I am one who wanders, but I am not lost.
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