Oh, hello there.
I managed to slip away from my previous adventure,
With the knight and his beloved.
My beloved, too;
I suppose.

I've stumbled upon a peculiar thing, though.
An olive tree,
In the midst of this lush underbrush.
It's quite twee,
If I do say so myself.
Although I'm more interested in the treasure below.

A pristine white glows beneath.
I twiddle with the branches a little to find a lovely treasure.
I sit down,
Outstretched my fingers towards the snow,
And carefully pluck at it,
Delicately brushing along the olives in the midst
Of my glissando.

Yohan Heineken, I believe.
A baroque composer.
My thoughts fluidly sailing as the leaves of the tree rustle,
And the snow echos as more olives fall upon it.

Like...an orchestra.
The olives falling unto the porcelain, I mean.
What a beautiful melody it creates,
And my fingers magically gloss along the porcelain,
Carefully molding the remaining olives into the crevices my fingers have made.
Oh dear, I've become too passionate for this!

I carry on anyways, 3rd Movement and all.
The Tempest...
A lovely play by Shakespeare & a dazzling story told by Beethoven.

Or simply a way to express my current emotions.
The wind carried the melody...

*...to the ears of the waking princess.

I always think about how you feel about me.
I'm probably wrong, it's no surprise.
You're always raving about your knights in rusty armour,
Emerging victorious from their battles to save you.
Slaying the dragons,
Dousing flames,
Or simply, serenely clutching you underneath your cotton fort.
It's all flowing through, garnishing my preemptive thoughts of your saviour.

It's alright though.
You, thinking you're some wretched old witch living in the dark depths of the forest,
Always told me that "love" is something that can be immersed in without your actual presence.
Striving to see that person smile and glow,
Even if you yourself are not really any part of it.
I've accepted that,
But I still don't know what this thing...this enigmatic entity, Love, quite is.

Your knight, however, seems to be fulfilling his duty.
Quite well, at that.
Good for him!
It makes me happy to see you both happy.
(I always laugh when those around me laugh, even if I have no idea what's going on...hahaha, it's great)
He always visits you in your dark cave,
Where you think nobody will find you,
And he surmounts the guardian of your threshold.
While I'm peering through the brush,
Making sure things go right.
Because I'm paranoid like that.

After all of your embracing in his arms,
And dousing all the flames of horror around you,
You seem to be in bliss.
That's good.
A shooting star glosses by, but you're too busy with him to notice.
Or maybe you did notice.

I'm getting sleepy, and you might be too.
So might he.
But being the knight he is, he'll probably wait for you to doze off,
Then adore your lovely face as you've faded off into the blackness.
How I wish to witness such a magical sight.
How luc-

Crack!
Oh dear, I've stepped on a stick.
How silly of me.

He's noticed and sets you down carefully.

I sit and wait patiently, as he takes hold of his sword and approaches the brush.
Should I break for it, or wait for his reaction?
Surely he values the protection of his loved one more than a random creature in the brush
That, of course, threatens the safety of the princess.

He's closer.

I slowly rise to my feet and walk out of the brush,
The canopy's shade couvering my identity.
The moonlight glistening upon his blade.

I stare into his eyes, for he only sees a black figure within the shaded area.
He has determination and a sense of loyalty in his eyes.
Good, I can check that off.

He lifts his sword, holding it firmly with both his hands.

Little does he know, that his loved one's guardian is standing before him.
Perhaps she hasn't accepted it, or even noticed,
But I'm still there.
Always...there.
On the sidelines, admiring the beauty and radiance of the fairy,
Being caressed by a seemingly brighter knight.

His sword is moving downwards...

I wounder if she'll ever notice.

...closer...

It's okay though.
I'm sure she'll be fine without me.

A smile made its way across my face, embracing my cheeks.

Whoosh.

A sound like a machete moving seamlessly through silk was made in the night.



She shivered mildly in her sleep.

Hey boy,
We meet again.

Give her this:
favourite flower.

Hey boy,
Please treat her right, okay?

**Or I will.

Sitting. On some wooden railing.
Typical movie scene.
Staring off into the distance,
Patiently waiting Helios to set.
The wind tuning to a mezzo-piano sound.
Harmonious really.

I don't have long hair that can nonchalantly flow through space as the wind blows past,
But I have long eye lashes.
And I can glance back and forth,
As if I'm double-taking a beautiful girl walking along the country side,
Noticing the honeycomb rainbows the sun's rays make
As my eye lashes magically refract them.

My mind is racing with thoughts,
Yet ever-so calmly making sense of it all.
Of course I can comprehend my own thoughts.
Most of the time, I guess.
Then in my peripheral vision,
I see a car's headlights flash by.

Light.
It's always attracted me for some odd reason.
Ironically, darkness seems to be my friend.
More so than light.
Yin & Yang.
They're balanced.
As am I.

Gracefully leaping off the wooden railing,
I make my way back to what I call home.
Is it really home?
Or is it just a house.
In any case,
I take one more look off to my right,
Over my shoulder,
And behold Helios gathering the last of his strings.

In an instant,
The threadbare sky becomes darker, slowly.
Magnificently caressing the lack of luster,
By embedding tiny diamonds into the holes that are seemingly there.
Then, Hercules makes his way unto the stage of darkness,
Radiating brightly.

Slowly shutting the door,
Taking one last gasp of air into my lungs,
I look outside at the silos near my house and wonder:
*Do you two ever get lonely when dusk falls and everyone has faded to black?

What it would be like...
To be loved...

What can I do to myself,

If suicide isn't possible?