Time spun in a loose thread. So much had happened, so much was left undone. Unsaid. His life, as it might have been, hung in the precarious balance. All that could have been was already lost, wasn’t it. Did he really have a choice or was he as driven by the storm as the leaves that spun around him in the frosty November wind?
Possibility and reality battled for his bliss as surely as he battled for supremacy, but in the end, did it really matter? He hadn’t chosen what had happened to him; he didn’t ask to be what he had been made into, but what he was drove all he would be.
It was exhausting and he was tired. He wanted so much more, so much less. Just to dance on the breeze, blissful, free. Just to be, what he chose to be.
Less than more.
A spin on Sephiroth from Final Fantasy. Discover more about him here
I truly wish I could make out the signature of the artist, but thank you to whoever it may be. If you know, please tell me 🙂