- Joined
- May 3, 2025
- Messages
- 112
- Thread Author
- #1
The cold and empty forests of Siberia, where no soul ever visits. Where there is nothing but snow and trees. Where the coldness is your only companion. This coldness, Siberian coldness..
This emptiness so desperate and harsh. This feeling that invades the heart. Those tundras of Sibir, cold, dead, apathetic to all the pain that goes around. Isolated, still, never ending snow desert covered by trees. This coldness, Siberian coldness.
This pain that one feels when they are rejected, time and time again. This pain when no place feels like home. This pain when all the souls around feel alien. This coldness. Siberian coldness.
The soul becomes frozen, dead, apathetic. The face looks like a battlefield from the great war, without movement, only a testament of the pain that was endured. The body shambling along, the mind blank, as if a machine left running in a frozen world. This coldness. Siberian coldness.
And still, despite it all, the tundra of Sibir lives, it survives. Those brave enough venture out seeking something that is not meant to be found. Fires, tiny flames of hope, of the spirit that survives. Despite it all, despite the cold. This coldness, Siberian coldness.
There is warmth in the coldness. There is hope in hopelessness. There is love in apathy. There is a flame burning in the cold, snowy deserts, in this coldness. Siberian coldness.
And yet, despite it all, despite the fear. I live. They live. He lives.
Despite it all. Despite the pain and the fear, it was not for nothing.
I love them, and they are safe.
There was always hope, despite my hopelessness. There always was love, despite my apathy.
There was always warmth, hidden behind my coldness. There always was care, masked by indifference.
I always loved you all, I just never knew how to show it.
This emptiness so desperate and harsh. This feeling that invades the heart. Those tundras of Sibir, cold, dead, apathetic to all the pain that goes around. Isolated, still, never ending snow desert covered by trees. This coldness, Siberian coldness.
This pain that one feels when they are rejected, time and time again. This pain when no place feels like home. This pain when all the souls around feel alien. This coldness. Siberian coldness.
The soul becomes frozen, dead, apathetic. The face looks like a battlefield from the great war, without movement, only a testament of the pain that was endured. The body shambling along, the mind blank, as if a machine left running in a frozen world. This coldness. Siberian coldness.
And still, despite it all, the tundra of Sibir lives, it survives. Those brave enough venture out seeking something that is not meant to be found. Fires, tiny flames of hope, of the spirit that survives. Despite it all, despite the cold. This coldness, Siberian coldness.
There is warmth in the coldness. There is hope in hopelessness. There is love in apathy. There is a flame burning in the cold, snowy deserts, in this coldness. Siberian coldness.
And yet, despite it all, despite the fear. I live. They live. He lives.
Despite it all. Despite the pain and the fear, it was not for nothing.
I love them, and they are safe.
There was always hope, despite my hopelessness. There always was love, despite my apathy.
There was always warmth, hidden behind my coldness. There always was care, masked by indifference.
I always loved you all, I just never knew how to show it.
