envy

i cannot tell a lie, i've always been jealous of my sister's easy way with words. in whatever writings she conjures up, there exists a magnificence that i eternally attempt to imitate and i will evermore fall short of her splendor.

but nevertheless, i will strive to scale this massive mount of brilliance, if only in the hope that i will ascend high enough to barely glimpse the radiance of her works. it is a vain hope, but it is what anchors me to this endeavor of creation within the bounds of script, an essay of poetic prose.

however, i fear that this aspiration is my undoing. my method of soaring language and words lathered in embellishment is a repellant, chasing away any who might stumble upon what i have written.

without a guide in this sphere of thought, i will continue in my loquacious manner, if only to continue writing for my own purposes.