I miss words. Mostly writing them. Unfortunately, writing has always felt more like a plague upon my soul, a possession yearning for exorcism. Photography just hurts less. Today, feels off. So, I started skimming through an untended to novella I drafted in 2007. Maybe one day I’ll edit and polish it, but tonight, I found the words I needed.
“Forgotten Eden is marked like Cain,” Ruth said, “Almost no man will deal with it, but they can’t help but be drawn to a cursed thing. You always wonder about its story, about a mark that can’t be hidden. And there’s a lot of cursed souls in a place like this. All a bunch of Cains tellin’ their story.”