I’d like to file a missing persons report for the person I was 10 years ago,

the person I was before I fell victim to my flaws, 

before I even knew what they were.

I’d like to file a report for a lost child who hadn’t lost themself yet,

who didn’t have meaning but never had the need

to even look for it.

I’d like to issue a statement in search of the childlike grin smeared across

her face in primary colours and crayon and paint;

the spitting image of her sister.

I’d like to order people to locate the stars gleaming in her irises,

idolising a single person and becoming them so much so

that people confused their names.

I’d like to initiate a search party for the child with such a fiery gaze,

an iron will and a lack of terror in the face of the

mere people before her.

But she has become a cold case, an old case, aged news, a memory.

Never making it to the papers, not even mentioned

unless through nostalgic dusty photos.

I’d like to file a missing persons report for the person I was 5 years ago, 

whose naive innocence was ripped away, who was left barricading

herself from those she came to fear.

I’d like to file a report for an erupting youth whose anxieties were

now tearing through to the surface after a lifetime

of creeping up in a dormant state.

I’d like to issue a statement on the pure fear that fueled her rage,

on how she was a delight to everyone else and a 

nightmare crawling beneath her own skin.

I’d like to order the people back then to look for the pain stabbing into

her mind, and watch as they see her, a smooth criminal,

carefully painting over her tracks.

I’d like to initiate a search party for the strength she held within her.

Fractured, and then shattered, yet still finding the power

to put herself back together again.

But she, like the little girl, has become lost in translation, screaming

from somewhere deep within the evidence locker,

but remaining a mere memory.

I’d like to be able to say with honesty that I don’t mourn myself, that I

don’t indulge myself with fears of change or people, or

anxieties wringing my neck.

I’d like to say that I don’t see losing who I was, or growing as a person,

as a massacre of my being on repetitive loop, a murder 

that oozes positivity and light.

I’d like to report it, issue a statement, send out search parties, order people

to find me, because maybe I can’t rip this fear and desire

from my past self’s cold, dead hands.

I am filing a report. I am looking. I am issuing a statement. I am finding 

and losing and finding myself over and over and over again.

And I always will.

scarfdyedshadow-temporary  asked:

Tell us about the parallels between Florence and Bersercu pls

  • destruction vs healing theme
  • red & black colour schemes
  • nightingale with the title of angel vs cu with the title of beast
  • Nightingale. “You sealed yourself inside a cage and turned your body into the mechanism called ‘King’. Without feeling joy, you fought automatically like a machine. If you hadn’t, you would not have been able to continue as the king.”
    Cu: “You speak as though you’d seen it before. What, do you know me from a previous life?”
    Nightingale: “No, it’s not like that. I know this because I lived my life like that as well. I threw away my humanity and focused solely on my objective.
  • both of them throwing all sense of self preservation & even sense of self in general aside in order to completely devote themselves to the role they decided to fulfil but for nightingale this was something she could be satisfied with because her role is one of healing which is something the world needed & benefits from whereas cu’s role is one of blind destruction that won’t bring anything good
  • also nightingale chose her role herself while cu’s role was imposed on him by someone else
  • Nightingale: “The hope for healing, the joy of recovery, these are the things that world needed. I abandoned everything for that objective, and I hold no regrets! But I question you, King of Savages, what need is there for your conquest? Do you have any prospects for the future? How will you know when you’ve achieved it?”
    Cu: “…who knows?”
    Nightingale: “You have no idea, do you? That is the same as a burning wound. After all, you and I are different. My blood burns when I think of my dream. When you speak of your aspiration, your blood is cold and muddy. That is a disease. Allow me to cure you, Cu Chulainn!” 
  • both of them are inherently extremely contradictory. both destructive as hell & yet protective as hell. giving up & yet not giving up. saving someone’s life even if it kills them. they don’t make any fucking sense at first glance bc first glance only shows one of those contradicting sides.
  • absolutely no sense of when to quit because they can still keep going whether by turning into a fucking demon or just bc there’s still patients that need to be treated
things i would rather see on next weeks the walking dead than daryl
  • maggie grieving
  • tara finds out abt denise abe and glenns deaths
  • morgan and young benjamin bonding while i cry over them
  • eric being alive
  • father gabriel finds a hat
  • rosita and eugene and the quest for a pasta maker
  • jesus tries out his new conditioner
  • ezekiel stages a play
  • ezekiel plays every single role in said play
  • enid wears a ponytail
  • judith. just judith
  • like sixty minutes of judith im serious i love her
  • ps gabriel looks rly good in his hat