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A few years ago, I had a dear friend whom I talked with often. He left, to what I can only vaguely say as his disbelief that I was real, an actual person behind my lines and my words. It's never stopped hurting, the feeling that someone so special to me denied my existence, and I constantly question my own reality.
What is it to be real? What is it to be a person?
Miss you, B.
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Marz
Very beautify. It reminds me of a very deep deserted area of the conscience, wondering about life and all alone. I could imagine the water ripples rippling up Kosi's body and making the golden highlights in her fur as if it were some kind of energy. That's how i interpreted it anyways at first glance without even reading the description. I enjoy the deep emotion in this one, awesome job!