She was there wearing her favorite sweater while she was hoping to get her life — beaten like a raw egg then I made this song, about Helena.
“So long and goodnight, So long and goodnight.” I hummed, gently touching her cold face when the chrysanthemums she holds brought me back to her and the rain pours. Her unkempt hair — her cold swollen hands her eyes as dead as the digging hearse rushes unto her, I made this song.
“When the star falls, I'll be holding on tonight if I stay, would it make a difference? Well, carry on don't sleep hear me and stay.” I strum in the strings of yarns weaving the ropes of life attached — while she dances barefoot and reckless. 'Til I come running and her faint breath, gone.
This is the last verse of the song. When slowly the sun yet to rise again, piercing through her damp soul, I sang the last piece and wore a vintage smile, after her last fainting breath — she heard the song. Helena sold the pieces of her soul.
I've always been fascinated by the name, Helena. I wrote about her twice. You can check out my short story, "The Aroma of Her Crimson's Blood" here.