He stumbled slightly, the limp in his leg still there. He dared not to look at the place he used to call home. He could feel the heat from the fire, the fire that he himself had ignited. He blinked back tears, as he limped away.
"What is a poet? An unhappy person who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music." — Søren Kierkegaard, Philosopher & Theologian
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