Serafina — a daily chronicle of her wants and whims, her goings and doings, her rights and wrongs, and a place to share her best and worst.
Serafina — a saying used to express the world inside herself is vaster and richer than this paltry plane, peopled with mere galaxies and gods.
“I became the very air; I am full of stars. I am the soaring spaces between the spires of the cathedral, the solemn breath of chimneys, a whispered prayer upon the winter wind. I am the silence, and I am the music, one clear transcendent chord rising towards Heaven. I believed, then, that I would have risen bodily into the sky. We are all monsters and bastards, and we are all beautiful in madness.”
But here is an acceptable lie. Her own people won’t even say her name. She always noticed the loopholes.
The Knowing
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Monday, 03:03AM.
I loved the sight.
I loved the smell.
I loved the circle.
I loved the music.
I loved knowing that I had freedom. Even for just a nightfall.
Each had a novel of their own, left behind for an escape.
I learned that I don't have to rely too much.
I don't have to know too much.
I don't have to fear too much.
Too much that it hurts.
I'm sleep deprived.
But I learned to live in the night.
Yet this is not how I imagined.
I'm stuck in rejection, for I have always been a nonchalant.
A self-contained pessimist could have gotten better in time.
But nothing comes to a good hit.
Even with the dead of night thoughts, I love breaking laws.
I love knowing rebels like me get high in joy.
I love knowing insurgents like me get away to be invisible.
This melancholic living soul will be alright.
This puppet will render distance.
History will remain an enigma.
