Dear Journal
I am tired. I am worn. I want only sleep.
How much longer can this go on?
The fight isn't as glorious as it once was, and my hands are wrinkled with time. Spackled with blood, even it would seem. I am in this desolate place, where I cannot fathom where to turn to next -- the winds are even my enemy.
I have been scarce as of late -- my ventures slow and plodding in Azeroth and beyond. By night I wander and by day I slink in and out of the shadows -- in and out of meaning, out of existance. I feel like I am fading away before my time but maybe I have just been naive to age and aging, You are a sullen cow, Navre.
Only true friends persist through the storm, but what if none come out when the sun rises again as water drains off the trees and onto the land?
I don't know what I have been doing.
How much longer can this go on?
The fight isn't as glorious as it once was, and my hands are wrinkled with time. Spackled with blood, even it would seem. I am in this desolate place, where I cannot fathom where to turn to next -- the winds are even my enemy.
I have been scarce as of late -- my ventures slow and plodding in Azeroth and beyond. By night I wander and by day I slink in and out of the shadows -- in and out of meaning, out of existance. I feel like I am fading away before my time but maybe I have just been naive to age and aging, You are a sullen cow, Navre.
Only true friends persist through the storm, but what if none come out when the sun rises again as water drains off the trees and onto the land?
I don't know what I have been doing.