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floatingvoice

Poetry

  • Hate/Love

    Love, for better or worse, leaves marks that can never be fully erased.

    • Poetry
    1 min read
  • Frankenstein

    On depression and therapy. Written during a rather dark period.

    • Poetry
    • Realistic · Other
    1 min read


It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien