If only I could accord the world today with my radiance.
That I might be useful to it, but the darkness of the night dims my serene maturity and reduces it to solitude.
I already miss thee heavily.
The new year had barely made an appearance with its northern crisp and usual unwarranted airs of good fortune.
We were candidly amused by this winter's splendor, seeking refuge in feasts indoors.
The toasty fireplace, the warm chocolate, the soft beignets.
I accept praise for the exquisiteness of my culinary endeavors that make you grin. This more than satisfies me.
It had been a mere two weeks since the weight of the world had turned your posture concave into a human shell.
Hard.
No other conviction reigned your intelligence but the good old 'woe is me' with a hint of fatality.
That afternoon, while the clergyman's memorial echoed in the back drop, you broke down before me with a ghastly sense of defeat, yet still and steadily picketed your way through my defenselessness with a big, fat sign of a game bird.
Emptiness has punched itself into my stomach.
Having but released a single breath from a beautifully arduous attempt to resuscitate you from your perceived unredeemed existence, you take mine.
My efforts perfectly exhausted.
I was redundantly, involuntarily exiled from your kingdom.
Many moons we harvested together, but today there was no place for a hopeful maiden.
And now I too am morose.
I already miss thee heavily.
The new year had barely made an appearance with its northern crisp and usual unwarranted airs of good fortune.
We were candidly amused by this winter's splendor, seeking refuge in feasts indoors.
The toasty fireplace, the warm chocolate, the soft beignets.
I accept praise for the exquisiteness of my culinary endeavors that make you grin. This more than satisfies me.
It had been a mere two weeks since the weight of the world had turned your posture concave into a human shell.
Hard.
No other conviction reigned your intelligence but the good old 'woe is me' with a hint of fatality.
That afternoon, while the clergyman's memorial echoed in the back drop, you broke down before me with a ghastly sense of defeat, yet still and steadily picketed your way through my defenselessness with a big, fat sign of a game bird.
Emptiness has punched itself into my stomach.
Having but released a single breath from a beautifully arduous attempt to resuscitate you from your perceived unredeemed existence, you take mine.
My efforts perfectly exhausted.
I was redundantly, involuntarily exiled from your kingdom.
Many moons we harvested together, but today there was no place for a hopeful maiden.
And now I too am morose.
I weep for the nights past and pray for our separate beatitude.
That we might catch up to it.
That we might catch up to it.
Goodbye Luna.
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