onthescript. 𓏲ּ𝄢

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ㅤ Trembling at the edge of ruin; I am a fragile vessel now forsakes the craft of each fickle breath. Piece by Piece. Each time my weary lids descend the lungs are pulled wider, yet strained. These unsend letters—jotted down by Toska Mirehn. "His name lingers inside my chest against all will." At 10 PM, December. And I remember it all too well. Weighing upon the lungs until even slumber recoils and refuses its hold. There I came to discern the true contour of this love not with its sweetness, but by what it withheld; the confessions trapped in unsteady hands that shielded nameless truths. My deepest heart that thundered where silence should have reigned, endless nights endured in solitary accord with stillness. Yet I'm still questioning—when devotion quietly reshaped itself into a weight carried by none but my own soul. @Middates ♥ ㅤ

ㅤ WRITING PROVIDER! 𓏲ּ𝄢 @ONTHESCRIPT ㅤ EST.2025