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The story of a rider – fin

They asked me what I feel and I told them : nothing.

You know, I truly don’t understand humans. They want you to tell them the truth, but when you do it, they will become upset as a raging child and run away from you. I have a tons of bad habits, one of them is telling the truth. It’s so funny to watch people changing their feelings from a word to another, some of them would call me evil. 

You asked me if I care. Well, I don’t. I stopped doing so now awhile. My heart is colder than a dead fish. You can judge me, you can speak out, I won’t run like those who did when they met the truth.

I hate mornings. They make me sad, they always did. That’s why I will stay awake day by day until sunrise like an vampire waiting for the sun to sleep. But at the same time, every morning my heart will fill up with beautiful rays. I see them while sleeping. They are ripped from a fairy land. Laughter, happiness, hope. 

But then I open my eyes and everything’s gone. It’s all dark.

This war inside me won’t stop. This is why I have to carry on and ride.

I know that one day I will ride through misty forests and into the sea’s heart. That’s when I’ll be at peace.

So she ended her cigarette and looked into my eyes. Her face revealed her beautiful mind with blue starry eyes, bluer than the sea and lighter than the sky. The gate to her soul.

That was the story of a rider.

Song of the day : Jon Hopkins feat. Purity Ring – Breathe this air

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The story of a rider (PT. 2)

 You stole my heart, my soul, my everything. Now I am free.

No, I don’t believe in angels. There are no such things, but if you’ll ask me again, I’ll tell you that I might believe in beasts. They are all around us, can’t you see them ? But the truth is that I was never meant to be a believer.

The only days I could consider myself a believer are those cloudy days, with those thunderstorm. That’s when I know that faeries and beasts are dropping tears over this shattered land. 

 When I was a child, I wanted to become a ballerina. I wanted to dance my life. 

 I dance with the dark beasts of the Hell, sing with grotesque faces and walk with the men of the evil forest. Every Friday night, you can see us at that round table. Pretending.

So she ended up her drink as she looked at the window, waiting for something to happen.

Brain Food, Chit-chat, digital art, The story of a rider

The story of a rider (PT. 1)

I’ve met you before but I don’t know you. I feel you but I can’t seek you. I remember you though I can’t see you. I hear you even if you’re not talking.

I was one of those party people at night, and a loner at day. A sinner, a dreamer, a lover, a wild soul : that’s all I was, that’s all was left from my mad self. Then the winter came and I felt in a deep sleep, nobody and nothing could wake me up. It was a long and cold winter of my entire life. I didn’t wanted to wake up ever again.

All I could do is : ride.

I am still sleeping, pretending that I have such a great time, pretending. Every Friday night I’m out there, pretending that I have so much fun, lying to myself, fooling myself, letting that cigarette burn as my soul will burn at the gates of Hell. I got this big war in my mind, there’s no peace … It will never be.

As she was telling her story, her cigarette found its end such as her voice.