It has been
forever since I have been
asked, "How are
you doing?"
But that's
okay with
me, because I am
fantastic. I am
brand-new, and
shiny, and just
lovely, so thank you for
not asking because I am
proud that I can
say it for
myself.

The next time you
run, be assured I will
come after you.
Because I know that
last time I
didn't and how that
stung in your
heart like a dagger.
Unfortunately, there is
something about the way you
run. You trap me in a
labyrinth and that I can't hope to
navigate, and the way you
sprint so desperately
away makes me
think that you don't want
me to find
you.

The rigging is
set, Captain.
Brown rope, aye,
secured tightly - aye,
can be adjusted.
Here, I'll stand on this
chair and see how
it's looking - aye,
Captain, it's proper
tight now, it will
function just
well enough, sir.
Oh, Captain, the sea;
I can see the
stormy waves,
black and
turmoiled. Aye,
Captain, all rigging
set. All hands on
deck, yessir.
We can't very well set
sail with a chair on the
deck, Captain.
Permission to kick
it away?

Oh, Summer,
Isn't it great how
you make people so
happy?
It must feel
wonderful.
All I do is
prepare them for
you and your
joy.

Yes, Spring,
I make people
happy, and yes,
that is very
important.
But without you,
they would not be
ready for my
sudden punch
of warmth and
it would hit them like
a truck.
So aren't you really the
more important one
here?

Oh, but I am but
the lonely whispers
of two conflicting times.
I am the last thoughts of
Winter, and I am just
hinting at your
arrival.
I say nothing
outright.
I am a coward, a lonely
star, and you are
the brave and
brilliant
sun.

My friend, if only
that was true.
I am welcomed at
first, but before long they
grow tired of me.
I am relentless, and
I desperately cling to
them in the hopes that
they will always
love
me.
Alas, my friend -
alas, it is not to be.
The tighter my
grip, the more they
wrest away from
me.
Praytell, Spring,
what is so
appealing about
Summer?

Your
your
your
your blithe
ignorance, I
suppose. Anything is
more appealing than
Spring.

Once I looked in the
mirror and I saw
myself, but not
what I wanted to
see.
My reflection is
distorted, but I look
the same as in any
other mirror or
poem or
drawing and I am left to
wonder, is it the
mirror that is
broken or is it
me?
-ignis