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All the best people rot.

On a humid night littered with periwinkle and grey in the sky, when the rain would gently tap the glass, would you rot? Sometimes it feels like rotting to most people, sitting in bed until your body gathers dust, mold crawling up the corners of every room, as you would just wait for something, anything at all to happen.

What does it feel like to be dead? It's certainly not like feeling alive. Feeling alive is full of fresh laughter while you run through the most vibrant green fields, morning dew licking your legs. Feeling alive is picking buttercups from said fields and holding them under your chin to see if it glows yellow. Believing that maybe, the buttercup glow means you really do like butter.

Feeling dead is stiff. It's cold, lonely, a melancholy film in black and white. But not all people feel dead, you just have to find the yellow glow. When there's a single buttercup amidst a field of something that used to be green, it's easy to only see the grey.

You can feel dead and alive at the same time. A fire within your stomach, spreading its flames down your arms and legs, just barely sweeping your brain enough to cook it. A roar stuck in your throat, a hunger, a sensation that makes your fingers curl in on themselves. You can put out your fires with water, but too much can turn everything into a pile of ash and mush. Then, you're back in that moldy room watching the clock's arms jump forwards for hours.

One must find balance. You can still have your fire but not let it grow too high. You can still laugh in a field and pick a sunny buttercup, you can still gather dust. That's what life is, because even if you're not living, you can still find ways to live.

﹙☆﹚. . . AUTHOR'S NOTE ‹3

so, are you excited? i'm working on chap 1 recently, so it should be out soon! hopefully chapters will be published fairly frequently, but do keep in mind i start college in less than a week! <3

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