Wheeling Gull Isle tongkola

blame the book im invested in for constantly messing with my writing style ;; thanks for being a pal

what a horrible thing to ask, he thought.

how hard he had tried time and time again to forgot those things. he returned and the wound of the island on his heart did not ache when the sun was high. when he ran wild, when he sang gospels, when he gave heda bits and pieces of his religion to digest. his heart did not ache in the company of somebody pure.

and yes, her heart may have been soured so horribly ill, but her soul?

he swore she was his baptism by fire. he had set out to do better by action and she had arrived on the tip of the devil's tongue. his golden eyes closed and still he thought he could feel the heat of her presence. the blessed gold of her eyes and the sunflame strip down her spine. bartholomew could think of her and not loathe himself for. he could speak to her (romp with her!) and not feel so wholly consumed by horribleness.

i was a bitter man, heda, he answered her, truthful and devoid of the guilt of all his prior sins. i was angry and i hurt myself and i hurt others. i did things that go against my very core. it is why i left just as it is why i returned. his eyes stayed fixed upon sunny tree tops. somewhere gulls cried over the lapping of waves. this things were truths in his heart.

because evil does not cease just because you flee from it. a whisper now, head rolled to the side so he might stare at her sidelong. i came back to root out the rot from my soul — and i cannot tell you the last time i have felt so free. so cleansed of the things that have plagued me.

and i do not seek to pressure you by telling you these things. only to let you know the impact you have.