Oh, shun.

Insurmountable, a claim of fame unlike the unforgiving stretch of time that lazes past my line of sight. This two-tone wave of freeform expressionism, like alabaster splashed with blossoms, echoes across the valley. A song of sorrow, crying out remembrances of tortured days, hits my ears and I'm reminded myself of those times when my stomach turned a sour note at the mention of any former lover. But now whether calmness or numbness has hold of my senses, the sea is mirror clear. A serenity so undisturbed as to cause warning for all others who'd encounter it. And yet it is my normalcy. Logic patrols those waters, and so violently that emotion has no chance of survival if it were to fall overboard. Swallowed and subdued by an inky black, never given the chance to make waves.