Note is wrapped around a small pink apple, the size of a fist*

I suppose
But what better honor is there
than to wait for the right time
and receive but more glory
in which to bathe your humble self
instead of crashing and burning,
being missed by all whose eyes
have had the pleasure of
meeting yours.

My irises,
for one,
would love
nothing more
than to witness
the fire within the
saddened eyes of
the friend I have made
easily, almost too easily.

Niklas.
It rolls off my tongue better than my
own name, it sounds of bells within
my dimwitted mind. If you could hear,
I would sing it over and over again to
be borne by the fingers of the wind
goddesses for your ears and yours alone
to relish, to give you rest from your
current toil.

How helpless am I, Little Cherie.