My anxiety is a low hum beneath the floorboards, a bass note in a song only I can hear. It pulses behind my eyes when you speak, scrambling the subtitles of your gentle words into static.
MWaybe I'll tell you then-- some other time.hen the rose's flash to the sunset Reels to the rack and the twist, And the rose is a red bygone, When the face I love is going And the gate to the end shall clang, And it's no use to beckon or say, "So long"--
When the young boy eagerly comes and handles his mount with care, Simon can't help but smirk slightly at him. The only hint of his expression remains in his eyes, as the musketeer always wear a black cloth that hides the lower-part of his face.