Almost midnight again...

My brain should rest. I should burn some incense and try to get to bed.

But even if I'm not thinking about anything in particular, something isn't letting me rest.... What does it expect from me?

I'm nothing significant, not yet anyway. Not until my wings unfold from this ugly shell... Just wait a bit.

You'll see, all of these sunspots will not be for naught. They'll be beautiful and framed in rings of lilac and marigold. Everyone will be in awe and envy my work... see all of those beautiful swirlings of mixing shadow and reflection. So delicate and neat my craftsmanship will be. They won't even care that I'm mute and dying. Disease ridden flesh of my mother's grave. How tender and soft it will be.

The white raven looks at you in distress because he sees the white crow. Too too similar... both so white and splattered in paint so they can't fly because their feathers are matted to their flesh with rainbows.