On the 22nd day of the 23rd year of conflict, something perfect happened.
In unorchestrated symphony, the librarian lay down his pen; the soldier his sword; the heretic her wand. Peace fell, softly like the first leaf of Autumn; the first breath of a deep and long-held sigh. Peace, forgiveness. Love.
The soldier stood upon the cliffs and looked out across the land, golden and new once again. He lay his beloved sword upon the tall Spring grass, and leant back upon the wind. “Goodbye,” he sighed as he fell into the sea. “Goodbye, and thank you for my purpose.”
Breathtaking.
what have you lost?
A loss is only room made for a gain.
Gorgeous.
perfect.
Unorchestrated symphony is such a sweet exhale.