how does one know it's near the end. when all hope is lost and the pain has become too much to bear. when does one know when to finally give in, give up and l e t g o---
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independent && selective [please read a l l pages]
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"The Edge --- there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over."
❝Yes, because no one can say they’ve heard that one before.❞
There’s an evident irritation in his tone, not because he was allowing the others words to affect him but because he knew what influenced such misjudgments of whom lied beneath the fabricated skin his essence situated at the present moment.
He doesn’t think himself lower than anyone, but he didn’t think himself better than another either. Arthur simply was, and he was content with such distinction.
They were distinct entities; one destined to face a similar fate as the other chose to mock, the one who’d served his purpose was simply surviving the fate designated to him by what he can only describe as cruel ruthless hands.
❝Don’t think yourself special because you posses a bit more luminance then others.❞
“ ——– You seem to be proud of it. Huh.”
It wasn’t that he disliked the male. He didn’t know him well enough to denote any true feelings about him. Nor did he really care to know him. It was more just an errant feeling of distrust and failure that floated around him that caused Armand to keep his distance.
It wasn’t a game of who was better and who was not. They both were cosmic entities— different stages but nevertheless, still the same. He really couldn’t give two shits about how the male felt about him or what he said— to Armand, he was just another blip on the radar.
His last words, however, caused him to chuckle— just the mere thought of being special made him laugh. What gave him this thought and why would he even speak it? Funny, it was—
“Think myself special? I’m a walking timebomb, there is nothing special about me. I would say the same, however, to you— Mr. Eater of Stars. Someone’s head has seemed to have grown a bit.”
Jaw clenched; the muscles in his cheeks standing stark and obvious. All too quickly this didn’t feel exactly right —- akin, he thought, to walking into a den of sleeping wolves. He tried vehemently to ignore the bristle of hair standing at his neck.
“I’m not equipped to debate philosophy with you.” Or, rather, he didn’t think he wanted to.
The effect he was having on this human was almost like a satisfying b r e a k f e s t. Unfortunately, he was a glutton for it all. and right now— he wanted more.
“Oh, but why not? You seem to know how things work. You seem to know it all, yes?”
