Perplexed, he ran frantically into the forest. That night, Nightingale singing with an impressive range of whistles, trills and gurgles. He sat under a tree with a knive in his hand, smeared with blood. He felt a throbbing pain in his heart. Deep down inside, he felt numb. He was left with a broken heart. Breathlessly, he saw a beauty in the darkness for what our eyes can't see, but he could. Death brought him to a better place.
posted by Duoism Theory at
1:13 AM
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