Unintentional sorrow floats in silhouette, cradling hearts that concede to insignificant pressure to be vague. Scarcely ever seen, a fame that brings more torture. Breathed freely, but never feels. Are we alone? Is love just borrowing bones? More vividness in solitude, how much should prevail in the prelude for us to let a life live? Banished. We were banished before by the violence of loneliness. Oh, how much should prevail in the prelude of us? We become the torment in every partial breath between us, carried along by our loneliness.

Further, we find our essence that belongs to us, a red heart that belongs to each other, where compassion makes violence breathe for souls that wander like us. We have the tenderness of violence, constantly coming and going. The souls that grow are something we’ve never seen before. Love with patience is a whole that becomes the ink we never forget. It bleeds through our hearts like lace reconciled around our bodies.