" drunk beneath a pale moon.
I’m in a room, a dark room. Surrounded by candles, the light is flickering off the wall. The flame dances to the silence and the sound of me breathing. I feel alone, nearing loneliness, alone, overthinking. I feel sadness lurking near the windows of my heart as the wrong thoughts overcrowd my mind. I can’t sleep, and so I just lie here with my eyes searching the ceiling for an imperfection, tracing old lines in the paint that give off this illusion of the foundation cracking. This is something I can relate to, being imperfect, feeling as if I’ll crack beneath the weight of it all. "

― R.H. Sin , Empty Bottles Full of Stories