In the lulling whispers of false idols, I've learned to live half alive. There is no grief or sorrow. Ghosts linger in the shadows. The wind is growing restless as I lay awake in bed. The night deepens, and I am haunted by the spirits of people I've loved and lost. I fall asleep to cicadas and crickets, who usher in nightmares most nights. The dream catcher with wind chimes doesn't often work nowadays. I scream into the depths of the darkness and don't hear an echo. My voice is swallowed by the abyss. I dream and drift, lost in the endless alone of the darkness. My heartbeat is the only constant noise in this untamed black on black night. I forgive every word you've said. But when the storm comes, I will embrace and welcome it. For it will be the Furies who come to rage against the darkness.
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