as you sigh, and wave at your future. wistfully yet excitedly. it reminds me of many years ago. when i was a little boy. in a sharp design. scratching nails against the marble. at the palace. and my wandered through every pocket of misery. ah. what a disaster unfolded in front of my eyes. but now i am here. across shores. tingling my fingers. in the motion of a beckoning.
and you should know who you are. to whom i speak. like a melancholic bludgeon split my soul in dainty smithereens. and i wait here. every day. across time and temperament.
and i dream of the martyrs. and brave souls. dead soles. scathing pain. and the fleur-de-lis.
i miss you. again. that is all.
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eta ke?
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