Plurk paste

Writers of the storm, the rain, and the snow. Angst is your element. You mastered the art of making it hurt, in every way. That quiet hurt of a smile on a crying face. Your words whisper to the lonely ones that they’re not alone. You are able to show your readers a universe where everything’s okay, and even if it hurts it’s okay, because being sad is a feeling that deserves to be felt. Yells against the dark of the night. Screams of rage and hurt, tears running down soft cheeks and white knuckles. You are there, screaming with them. Angry at the unfairness, and fighting it, in the first place it attacks you. In the heart. And you’re the hand, offered to the hopeless. With a delicate smile on your lips, you help people stand up again. The storm writer, the one who knows how it feels, to be screaming in the void, and doesn’t want anyone else to live it too. You are the storm writer, but you’re able to build beautiful reigns of ice and snow, and offer comfort to the ones who seek it.