The halls of discontent

dearest you,

As I embark within the halls of yet another story, I pause here, thinking of the depth of such an emotion. I find it to be a great despondency of lacking, non?

This book I’m working on, struggles with the way a person, like me often makes an ugly pained person, brilliantly beautiful. The person is never ugly my darlings, as it’s such a feeling.Feelings are ugly, plain et simple.
Because no matter how withering a tree may be, I find a way to give it life. It’s a beauteous sin.A struggle with my writing I so feel.I think that perhaps it’s beauty hidden in ugly places. There’s such a thing, sort of like fairy tales, there’s always a witch in all of its tales.Oui, from far to near. Hence, I am literally lost in this next book with its covers, the front, the back etchera.

So here I sit next to discontent, searching her books for the face of reflection et blissful esthetics to such a melancholic topic.

A task really.
Yours,

RS