My king.
I'll never forget the butterflies you gave me. You gave me the fireworks i asked for, oh so many times. Yet not of it is real. It is the pure fruit of my imagination, sculpted by my desires, influenced by my fears, drawn by my needs and painted by my wishes. You are nothing and everything. You are an idea, an image, a dream. I have never seen you yet I see you everywhere. You are in the sand on a sunny Monday afternoon. You are in the ocean's black waves, reflecting the moonlight. You are in the words my favorite singer whispers in my ears. You are in my dreams, you are in my dreams.  

But again, the midnight wind takes you away. Except this time, I simply sit on the end of my bed, hands on my chest, as the moon pours its light into my bedroom, and I do not ask the stars for a thing. I hear them, loud and clear: "he's gone, my dear"
I always knew you'd slip away. Believe me, my king. I have thought of holding every piece of you against my chest. Closing my fists as the thought of you slowly flows in between my fingers. Have you ever tried catching a cloud? Trying to keep you is like looking for the end of a rainbow, my love.
I kneel to the ground, and look up at the moon. "I know I have asked too many things of you. I could love him but I know now is not the time. He still smells like home. If not today, tomorrow, but I ask again, old friend; please, let me have him. "