. (Mythology Re-Imagined As Fairy-Tale & Deconstructed) .

No one recalls when he arrived.
He was already there, in the corners of high rooms.
Carried in on wind or instinct.
Too composed to belong, too still to be ignored.

He wasn't from the sea, though he stared at it often.
Stared like a man who missed something he never touched.
He lived above things—above feeling, above endings.
He wore distance like other men wear charm.

And she—well.
She wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

---

They said she’d been sealed beneath water before time had a name.
Not drowned. Not sleeping.
Just paused.

A beauty left half-sketched.
A song trapped on the bridge, never reaching the chorus.
She existed in the almost.
The kind of presence that ruins men who believe in silence.

No one put her there.
But something had.
Something old and silver-lipped, a clockmaker with no face.

---

When he found out, he didn’t shout.
Didn’t storm.
Storms are for men who want to be heard.

He simply started unmaking himself.

Small things, at first:

Giving away secrets he never told.

Letting starlight fall from his shoulders like ash.

Standing in rooms long enough for people to forget he was tall.

Eventually, he gave away the last thing he had—
the part of him that never wanted anything.

And that was enough.

---

She came back like foam curling over marble.
Not as a lover. Not as a reward.
As weather.

She passed him by.

Looked at the space he’d vacated inside himself
and nodded, as if to say: “Yes. That will do.”

---

After that, things changed.

She walked through the city like someone who could end it.
Touched doorframes and left them trembling.
Spoke only when the sentence would shatter something.

He, on the other hand,
was seen less and less.
Not gone—just thinned out, like smoke after a gunshot.

---

Some say he became the silence in her laugh.
Others claim he left, unfinished, like a poem crumpled in a lover’s pocket.
No one’s sure.

But if you ask the sea just right—
after midnight, after mirrors—
you’ll hear it whisper:

“He let go of the sky, so she could walk through it.”

{fin}

. (or: the night I vanished while still in the room) .

He stopped coming home late—
not out of guilt, but because
there was nothing left to hide.

I watched him re-enter
like a man returning to a house he built
on land that was only technically¹ mine.

My scent had faded from the sheets.
His cologne now lingered longer than my voice.

He called me darling
in the same tone I used to use
when I meant goodbye.

I touched his back one night,
the way I used to trace stars across it,
and he flinched—
not like it hurt,
but like it meant nothing.

The watch on my wrist had stopped ticking.
I hadn’t noticed in days.

Over dinner,
he quoted my own stories back to me,
trimmed for elegance,
rearranged for effect.

“I don’t remember it like that,” I said.
“You weren’t meant to,” he replied,
not cruelly—just… correctly.

The eclipse doesn’t apologize for the sun.

In the mirror,
I saw only one of us
reflected clearly.

And it wasn’t me.

I asked him what he wanted.
He said,
“Everything you’ve ever had.”

And smiled like he already did.

I laughed.
He didn’t laugh back.

I told him I loved him.

He said,
“I know.
That’s why this had to happen.”

And somewhere in that moment,
between my mouth opening
and his walking away,
I became myth—
the kind they misremember
on purpose.

You urged me to leave, to fly,

to conquer this life.

But my wings feel heavy,

a descent into the raw, relentless pain

of a love that both shaped us and shattered us,

leaving wounds that time only deepens.



Music is stained by you,

you’re woven into every note,

recalling to me both what you gave

and what you took away.

Your pain bleeds through every lyric,

questioning me,

forcing me to question myself:

Is it my memory that chains you to the dark?

When will songs ever lose your echo?



I hope you found peace in my songs for you.

And they make your soul rest,

like it did in my arms.

My love falling around you

like a perfect harmony,

a warm melody that lingers,

but that failed to heal.

please, won’t you save me ?
save me from myself
i don’t think i can keep running.
tired, i think my legs my give out
cause you and i, we live for the chase

in this sleepy town
i keep things alive
the bustling winds and bullets
will never take me down.
just can’t stop the rush

–

LANA’S iNTERLUDE

i’VE BEEN PUT iN DANGER
SAVE THE WORLD
OR THE GiRL OF YOUR DREAMS.
YOU WON’T ALWAYS GET TO PiCK “BOTH.”

i CAN’T WAiT FOREVER
NO MATTER HOW HARD i TRY
iT’S LiKE WE’RE FROM DiFFERENT PLANETS
THE SiMPLE THOUGHT MAKES ME CRY

WHEN WiLL YOU UNDERSTAND
THAT ALL WE DO iS FLiRT
WITH EACH OTHER AND DEATH
LOVE iSN’T iMMORTAL

–

i can’t risk it
i’ll either lose my life
or lose the light
and i can’t live and love
and be content without you