OF DISTANCE, DEVOTION, AND DYING FLOWERS your perception of her: - the alluring moonlight in the faintest hours of midnight, so unbearably far away - a cold so delicate like the touch of the underside of a moth’s wing - the gentle, sorrowful ballad a lonely shepherd sings to his dead lover - a pearl hidden away in the darkest depths of raging storms and howls of the sea - the candle that burns when every tree has withered within a soul gone hollow of course, you couldn’t help it; the shivers that ran down your spine, the way your skin caught on fire—it was her, after all. dying flowers bloomed to life again in your broken, jagged heart as their petals poisoned your blood. you murmur, voice shaking, “end me, my love,” as you drift into an endless, twisting darkness.
